


The Passing of Years

by RadientWings



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (all while trying to remain somewhat historically accurate yikes), And angst, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood, Established Relationship, F/M, Families of Choice, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family History, Family Reunions, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Little Sisters, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Original Character, POV Steve Rogers, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Canon, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Reunions, World War II, and old ladies being awesome, basically this fic spans from the 1920s to present day, but also bickering, give me all the fluffy sibling relationships 2k18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-12 23:10:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15350811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadientWings/pseuds/RadientWings
Summary: The Barnes girls had two big brothers that they loved dearly. Then they had two big brothers that they lost.Unless they didn't.(OR: Becca, Lily and Annie Barnes and their years with Bucky and Steve, their years without, and then their years with them again.)





	1. The Early Years

   
_**~ 1924 ~  
**_  

Bucky was seven years old when his first sister was born. Rebecca Grace Barnes was a loud little thing, always squalling and fussing in their parents’ arms while they continued to dote on her. Bucky, used to being the only child, was jealous of all the attention she received. At least, at first. After all, he couldn’t help but think, what was so special about a baby? It wasn’t even like she could  _do_  anything. All she ever did was  _cry_.

His mother, bless her, tried her best to be patient with him, but there was only so much of his whining she can could stand until she snapped.

“That’s enough out of you, James Buchannan Barnes,” she said crossly one day, holding his sister as she attempted to calm her down, the baby’s ever-loud crying beginning to grate on everyone’s nerves. Still, his mother insisted, “Rebecca is here to stay and you had best accept it.”

Winifred was about to say more when a knock on the front door startled them. Frazzled and overwhelmed, she foisted Rebecca hurriedly into Bucky’s arms, telling him in no uncertain times that he’d better hold her carefully or else. As soon as she was sure he was supporting her neck properly, she was gone, greeting whoever had decided to visit.

Bucky, meanwhile, wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself or the baby in his arms. He watched warily as she kicked against him, her entire body vibrating with the force of her cries, little face all scrunched up. Desperate to stop the grating noise, he tried to remember how his ma usually soothed her. He started by rocking her awkwardly in his lap, making uncertain shushing noises. When that didn’t work, he freed one of his hands and rubbed her shaking belly as softly as he could.

Finally, finally she began to calm, her cries slowly decreasing in volume. At one point, he stopped rocking her and the wail she let out in response was almost enough to break his ears, so he immediately started up again. Her face lost its angry redness after that, brow relaxing as she looked up at him with increasingly droopy eyes.

He was suddenly afraid of breaking her. She was just so  _small_ , much smaller than him and Bucky wasn’t even done growing yet. Ma would say she’s still a fragile thing. As if sensing his train of thought, the baby let out an abrupt little gurgle, her tiny hand coming to rest atop Bucky’s, fingers curling around his thumb.

In that moment, he realized with startling clarity that she’d be helpless without him or his parents to take care of her. He felt the shame flood him then, now knowing that he’d been wrong to be so dismissive before. He had been nothing less than the bullies that sometimes tried to pick on him or his best pal Steve. The thought of it made him sick. If Stevie ever found out how he’d been acting, he’d be so disappointed. Bucky couldn’t think of anything worse. He barely remembered a time before Steve... he wouldn’t know what to do without him. Wouldn’t know where to start.

Swallowing harshly against the onslaught of emotion, he curled further around his baby sister.

“Don’t worry, Becca,” he whispered softly, christening her with a new nickname, “I’ve got you now.”

Despite not understanding, Becca gurgled happily right back at him.

When Winifred returned a few moments later, she found her son giggling down at her daughter and she couldn’t help her smile. It was a start, at least.

 

* * *

 

**_~ 1928 ~_ **

 

Steve Rogers was ten years old the very first time a girl (that wasn’t his mother) told him she loved him. He’d been homebound for nearly a week by then, the tickle in his chest having become so much worse. Luckily, it seemed to be fading and Ma decided Bucky could finally come visit him.

(Ma didn’t know about three nights ago, of course, when Buck had somehow managed to sneak up their old fire escape and poke Steve awake from his fevered sleep. Steve only remembered it vaguely, but he did know that his best friend had spent the night reading the Wonderful Wizard of Oz to him, curled beside him, big and warm. He’d fallen asleep because of that warmth and the next morning his ma was surprised to find he had enough strength to sit up and eat his soup all by himself.) 

Steve spent the morning practically buzzing with excitement; he would’ve been bouncing off the walls if he could, but his legs were still as weak as a newborn deer’s. So Ma handed him his sketchpad and the pencil he’d worn down to a nub, letting him work off some of his energy by doodling. She was watching him with a small smile as she cleaned their tiny two-room apartment, singing old Irish jigs under her breath. (It was Steve’s favorite kind of morning, with only the sound of his mother’s sweet voice and his pencil gliding across paper keeping them company.)

Of course, the peace that had settled over their home was soon disrupted when not one, but two Barnes kids came running through their front door. No doubt Winnie Barnes had trusted Bucky to look after his little sister while she went off to clean the fancy houses uptown, looking to earn some extra money.

(‘Sides the disruption was more than welcome – at least to Steve, who’d been cooped up without his friend for far too long.)

Bucky called out a quick greeting to Mrs. Rogers before urging Becca forward to Steve’s bedside, the siblings wearing matching grins.

“Steve!” Little Becca said happily, though it came out more like ‘Stebe’ (the four-year-old still got her consonants mixed up). She made grabby hands at him, wanting to sit up on the bed like he was.

Steve was about to tug her up (or try to), when Bucky swooped in with all his healthy glory, dumping his sister next to his friend. Steve glared at him and opened his mouth–

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky interrupted with an eye roll, “you don’t need help, ain't nothin' I haven’t head before. But, pal, you can’t even stand yet!”

“Yes, I can,” Steve argued, incensed. Just ‘cause he was smaller than Bucky, didn’t mean he was  _weak_.  _I can definitely stand_ , he thought, somewhat petulantly.

Bucky gave him a  _look._ “No, you can’t.”

“ _Yes_ , I  _can_.”

“No, ya really can’t.”

“I’ll show  _you_ ,” Steve muttered, trying to surge up to his feet only to topple into Bucky. Becca clapped in delight, giggling like it was the funniest thing she ever saw. It made his cheeks burn with shame.

“Why d’you gotta be so stubborn, huh Stevie? I’m just bein’ a pal,” Bucky told him, frowning as he got Steve settled back in his sickbed, Becca still giggling next to them.

“I ain’t weak,” Steve insisted, trying hard not let the tears that suddenly swamped his eyes run down his face. He wasn’t  _little_  anymore; he shouldn’t be  _crying_. But he was so, so tired, all the time. His stupid body never worked right, he was always letting everyone down, getting sick. Especially his ma and Bucky. And he couldn’t play or help or do anything like the rest of the children his age. Sometimes he just wanted to scream, he was so  _angry_ , but he didn’t want Ma or Buck or even little Becca to think he was ungrateful. He knew how much they all did to keep him here. 

It just… It wasn’t fair.

“Aw Stevie, I know you ain’t weak,” Bucky said, wedging himself on Steve’s other side. He nudged him carefully. “You’re the strongest fella I know, I swear.”

“Don’t be making up lies, Buck,” Steve replied, lip trembling a little. Becca was oblivious by his side, playing with the edges of the blanket his ma had knitted for him a few years ago.

“M’not! No one else I know woulda scared the Carlson boys off’a Eli Abrams like you did.”

Steve frowned, “ _You_ did the scarin’, Buck.” It was true; the Carlson boys had  _laughed_  when Steve’d intervened on their picking on poor Eli. And then the infamous Bucky Barnes has stepped in and they’d run after a one punch, tails between their legs.

Still, Bucky shook his head, arguing against the obvious. “But  _you_  started it. And you woulda finished it too, pr’bably messed up that beak of yours even more.”

Steve swatted Bucky away when he reached out to thumb at the obvious bump in Steve’s nose. Bucky grinned, deciding instead to place his arm around Steve’s skinny shoulders, keeping it firm even when the smaller boy struggled for a minute against it. Bucky knew that Steve would give into the embrace – he always did.

“Look, sometimes you just need a friend, alright?” Bucky told him, almost gently and with far more wisdom than an eleven-year-old should have. “Don’t mean you’re not strong all by yourself.”

“I guess,” Steve grumbled, though the tone was softened by the fact that he burrowed in a little closer, letting his head rest on Bucky’s shoulder. Steve truly dreaded the day Bucky would realize he could do so much better than scrawny, always-sick Steve Rogers. After all, Bucky was his only friend in the world and probably would be the only one  _ever_ , but  _everyone_  was Bucky’s friend. One day he was sure to pick someone better than  _Steve_  to spend all his time with. Steve just knew it. Until then, he would savor the company; for however much longer he had it.

They sat there for a long moment, before a very excitable four-year-old started tugging incessantly on their arms.

“Steve, Bucky,  _play now_ ,” Becca demanded.

Bucky laughed. “Sure, Becs. But how’s about we draw, huh? Let Stevie show us how it’s done.”

 _And keep him resting in bed,_ Steve was sure he didn't add, but for once it he didn’t let it bother him. Instead, he felt warm in the knowledge his friend cared enough to worry about him.

Becca seemed to consider for a moment before nodding her consent. Drawing it would be, then.

They were at it for a while, first all drawing on their own before Steve created funny little cartoon characters that Bucky gave voice too, crafting a wacky story to make Becca laugh.

“James,” his ma called after a while, “do you mind helping me with supper? All this chopping would get done faster with two pairs of hands.”

“‘Course not, Mrs. Rogers,” Bucky replied, immediately scampering to her side.

“Thank you, darling.”

Bucky went a little red-faced at the endearment but puffed up proudly, causing Steve no end of amusement. But Sarah Rogers’ praise did that to the best of them. His ma left him with instructions to keep an eye on Becca, who was still bouncing with energy. Steve invented a game involving paper planes to try and tucker her out, letting her run her energy off a bit.

Eventually, she managed to help pull herself back up on the bed (though by stepping on the stack of books Steve kept by the side table, which had made him wince). She pushed herself into his lap, dislodging the open sketchbook he’d been working in, clearly unhappy he wasn’t paying attention to her. She huffed as her dark brown hair went into her eyes again, loose now thanks to all the running about earlier. Becca tried to get it out of her eyes but it just kept falling back into place, unruly. 

“Steve, help,” Becca said, bottom lip jutted out pathetically. “Please.”

Steve grinned at her. She sure had a lot of the Barnes charm in her and she already knew it. He envied it a little, that charm that both her and Bucky  _shone_  with. But, for the most part, he was simply happy to be in its presence.

“Sure, Becca.” He helped her turn around so her back was to him, fingers gently undoing what was left of the braid Mrs. Barnes had painstakingly put together that morning. (‘Lord save me from my wild children, Steve,’ she told him nearly every time she saw him. But always with a smile on her face; the very one her wild children inherited.)

Steve was careful as he parted Becca’s hair three ways again, before deftly winding them back together. His finished by tying the ribbon in a neat bow at the end. (His ma had taught him how to do this, said his long, skinny fingers were just perfect for making her hair look beautiful.)

“All done, Miss Becca,” Steve finally said, tickling her sides a little. She giggled in response before fighting him off – only to turn back around to rest against his thin chest, arms wrapping too strong around his neck. Steve smiled at the display of affection anyways, rubbing her back in what he hoped was the same soothing way his ma did to him.

“Love you, Steve,” Becca said in reply, smacking a kiss on his cheek. And then she scampered off, like her statement hadn’t just completely thrown Steve’s world on its axis. He’d known Becca since she was a tiny baby, but she’d never said  _that_ to him before, no matter how much he played with her. No, she saved that for Mrs. Barnes and Bucky. Even Mr. Barnes never got an ‘ _I love you_ ’ from little Becca (though that was probably because he was often loud and mean, especially if he want out for the night).

 _Huh_ , Steve found himself thinking dumbly,  _guess I have more than one friend after all_.

The thought made him smile stupidly, even as his head felt foggy with the last vestiges of his sickness. Maybe most boys his age wouldn’t want a friend who was practically a baby, and a girl at that, but Steve never minded stuff like that. ‘Sides he knew that Ma wasn’t going to have any more babies herself; she’d told him so, when he begged for a little sister of his own after Becca was born.

(“Don’t be sad for me, my sweet boy,” Sarah Rogers had said, “if God can only give me one child in this life, I’m glad it was you.”)

So Steve was happy to have little Becca Barnes follow him and Bucky around; even happier to have her want him as a playmate, though he was probably getting too old for that now. (He was  _ten_ , practically a grown-up.)

But maybe, just maybe, when Bucky eventually left him behind, Becca would keep being his friend for a while longer.

Steve could live with that. 

(Of course, it didn’t happen like that. Bucky  _did_ eventually leave him, but it was much later in life than Steve had expected at ten years old. And in a much worse way than simply finding a new friend.)

 

* * *

 

_**~ 1930 ~** _

 

Becca was five years old (almost six) when her mama was pregnant again. She barely remembered the last time Mama’s belly was big and round, carrying a growing baby, Becca’s new brother or sister. That baby hadn’t ended up coming though. He’d been too small and tired to stay with them, Bucky’d explained. Becca hadn’t really understood it at the time (she  _had_  only been four); all she knew was that Mama had been  _real_  sad back then, her eyes always wet and puffy. 

Mama seemed happy now though, thrilled that there was another one on the way. Her father never said much about it, but he had been smiling more lately as well  _and_  he was less likely to drink from that nasty bottle of his.

And Bucky. Bucky was  _so_  excited about it, constantly checking on Mama, making sure she was comfortable. He told Becca that is was important that he help where he could so that the baby was born happy and healthy. Bucky even took away Daddy’s bottle, though Daddy hadn’t liked that much. Her brother had ended up with a sore tummy for a while after that and dark blue splotches on his skin, but he hadn’t once complained about it. In fact, he’d looked rather pleased with himself, despite the pain he’d been in.

Becca hoped that all this work meant that this new baby was a good thing. Sister Agnes, the old nun who watched after all the girls in Sunday school, told her that hard work was a virtue, that it brought you closer to God. (Becca didn’t really know much about God, but she found herself thinking that it must be true, considering how hard she saw Bucky and Steve and Mama work. They were the best people she knew, so God must love ‘em like she did. Maybe God would love the new baby too.)

When the baby finally came, it was in the middle of the night. Becca had been sound asleep when her mama’s pleas for help had woken her. Bucky shot awake from the cot he had beside her bed, scrambling out of it with barely a word in her direction.

He was back mere moments later, his eyes aglow with an odd mixture anticipation and worry. “Becca, I’m going to get some help for Ma so I need you to go hold her hand. Can you do that?” 

She nodded enthusiastically, happy that he needed her help for once. Usually when she tried to do something for him, he rebuffed her, no matter how many times she insisted that she was going to be a big sister soon, so that meant she was already a big girl. Him asking for help meant that he finally thought so too. Her chest felt suddenly warm and she smiled up at him, scooting off the end of her bed. 

“Is Daddy helpin’ too?” Becca asked.

For some reason, the question made Bucky look angry. “No, he isn’t. He’s out. But don’t worry, Ma’s got you and me.”

Like all children her age, Becca’s belief in her older brother was absolute, so she simply nodded in acceptance. Bucky put a hand on her shoulder and lead her quickly to Mama’s room. Winifred Barnes was laid out on her back, pillows plumped up behind her back to support her body. She was only wearing a thin shift; definitely not warm enough for winter, but her hairline was covered in sweat regardless. Her eyes were glassy as she took in her children, holding out a trembling hand for her daughter as soon as Becca entered the room.

The youngest Barnes didn’t hesitate to run across the room and barrel into her mother’s side (though she was extra careful of Mama’s belly; Bucky would be mad otherwise).

“Oh my little darling, you don’t mind keeping your old ma company, do you?” Winifred said, strained.

“Course not,” Becca replied, snuggling against the woman’s arm, holding her larger hand in her two small ones.

“You’re a sweet girl, Rebecca dear,” Mama whispered with a small smile, before she suddenly tensed, a harsh breath escaping through clenched teeth. Her pretty face twisted in pain, making it into an ugly, unrecognizable thing. Becca wasn’t sure what was happening but she tried her best not to get scared. She was a big girl and Mama and Bucky needed her help now. So she did what Mama always did when she was hurting, singing all the songs she could remember, making up words where she forgot the real ones.

She was so focused on her job that she didn’t even notice that Bucky had left, not until he came back with several people in tow. Her brother burst into the room when Becca was in the middle of singing her favorite lullaby, followed closely by Steve’s ma and Steve himself. Apparently the nearest midwife (not that Becca really knew what that was) was nowhere to be found and Steve’s ma was the best Bucky could do, with her being a nurse and all. Mrs. Rogers immediately went to Becca’s mother, hands fluttering over the other woman, only pausing in her examination to crouch in front of the little girl. 

“Rebecca, why don't go with your brother and Steve now?” she asked, her pale blue eyes full of the same earnestness that seemed to fill her son to the brim.

Becca, tired by now of all the singing, just nodded again and allowed herself to be led away by the boys. They ensconced themselves in her and Bucky’s bedroom, all three children piling up on Becca’s bed with the proper mattress. She used to share the bed with Bucky but he’d begun insisting on sleeping in the cot over the past year. Becca didn’t mind much, she tended to sprawl out when she slept, but now she took comfort in having both boys nearby. Seeing how Bucky was jittering nervously, she decided to lean into Steve’s side, who immediately put an arm around her, long fingers playing with the end of her braid. Steve was much smaller and skinnier than Bucky, but that just made it easier to put her head against his shoulder.

“How long’s it gonna take?” Becca asked after a while, impatient. She glanced over at Bucky in askance, her brother still trying his best not to fidget.

“Not too much longer, I think.” His statement is punctuated by their mother’s loud scream from the next room.

Becca frowned at that, worried. She felt the telltale stinging of tears coming to her eyes. “Why’s the baby hurting Mama? I thought she wanted to come now.”

Bucky seemed uncharacteristically at a loss for words at that, his brow similarly furrowed with concern. As always when her brother was struggling with something, Steve was quick to step in.

“The baby’s just impatient to come out and meet you and Buck,” he started. “And my ma always says that giving birth hurts, but it's not a bad kind of hurt. It’s the kind of hurt that comes before something  _good_  happens. The baby isn’t hurting your mama out of meanness or anything like that, I promise.”

“So… she’s not hurtin’ Mama on purpose?” Becca checked, sniffling.

Steve nodded sagely. Then, as if something just occurred to him, his lips twitched into a wry smile. “ _She_? How d’you know the baby’s a girl?”

“Because the last one was a boy, so that means this one’s a girl… Right, Bucky?”

Bucky’s voice was thick when he replied. “Sure, Becca. It’ll be a girl now.”

Sensing that something was wrong, she opened her mouth to speak when Steve tugged gently at her braid. “How’s about we do some drawing?” he asked, pulling out the sketchbook he always kept on him (it was one Becca had helped Bucky pick out for him).

Soon all three of them were lying on the bellies, with Becca in the middle, doodling on one of the blank pages. Bucky was drawing stick people next to Becca’s artful blobs. Steve outmatched them both with his lifelike teddy bear, holding a card that said ‘Welcome Baby Barnes’.

“That’s real pretty, Stevie,” Becca complimented enthusiastically, running clumsy fingers over the lines of the drawing. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled in return, his face all red.

They went on like that for a while (it felt like it was taking  _hours_ , Becca kept complaining), trying not to get to worried by the noises coming from the other room. Eventually though, they heard the unmistakable sound of a baby’s cry, followed shortly by Mrs. Rogers coming to get them. They all rushed to Mama’s bedroom, but hesitated in the doorway, eyes wide as they watched Winifred gently rock the wriggling little bundle in her arms. Winnie smiled tiredly at them, but her eyes were shining with happiness.

“Come in and meet your little sister,” she invited. Becca barely even thought about the fact that she was  _right_ , immediately going to her Mama, curious to see the baby. Bucky followed, his face melting into a smile as soon as he saw their new sister. Becca didn’t know what was so special about her, she looked just like any other baby… but she was  _her_  little sister, so maybe that’s what made her special. Steve hesitated behind them, but Mama’s ‘you too, Steve’ got him moving.

“She’s so beautiful,” Bucky whispered in awe, his hand hesitantly patting her little head, the other pulling Becca in close, as if needing the anchor.

“She really is,” Mrs. Rogers said from beside them, “and she’s a healthy little girl to boot.” 

Bucky’s smile widened at that. “What’s her name, Ma?”

“Lillian Sarah Barnes,” Winifred told them proudly. Bucky immediately turned to look at Steve’s mother, his smile blinding now.

“Are… are you sure, Winnie?” Mrs. Rogers asked and though her frail body looked like it would keel over in the slightest breeze, something in her face spoke of strong stuff. Her eyes were gleaming, hand clutching Winnie’s.

“Of course, Sarah. I couldn’t have done this without you,” the other woman said, before breaking off into Gaelic too fast and complicated for Becca to understand.

She didn’t care much though, focusing again on her sister. The baby had wispy brown hair on her head and Becca couldn’t help but wonder if it was soft. Bucky leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“It’s ok, Becca. Go on ahead and touch her. You just have to be careful for a while, she’s still really little, but soon she’ll be up and about and you’ll have someone new to play with.”

With Bucky’s encouragement, she reached and ran her fingers over the top of Lilian’s head like she’d seen him do earlier, finding her downy hair to be silky against her skin. That warm feeling from earlier returned to Becca’s chest and she continued to pet her sister’s head as gently as she could. Bucky even lifted her onto the bed to make it easier for her to reach, while Steve kept a steady hand on her back, so she wouldn’t topple back off in excitement. Becca didn’t have any attention for them, however, only focused on Lilian. 

No, she decided.  _Lily_. Like the flowers Steve sometimes drew her, the ones he’d seen in a book once. They were pretty, Becca remembered. Special.

But this Lily… this Lily was more special. Becca just  _knew_  it.

 

* * *

 

_**~ 1937 ~** _

 

Lily was seven years old when she found Stevie and Bucky kissing in their kitchen.

Mama and Mrs. Rogers had gone out to the market with Becca and Annie, leaving the boys to look after Lily, who would have joined her sisters if she hadn’t been feverish the last few days. Normally on market day Mama would have left baby Annie with Bucky and Steve to be watched, but with Lily so ill she hadn’t wanted to risk the eleven-month-old’s health.

Lily understood that, or she tried to. Annie Marie Barnes was what everyone referred to as a ‘miracle baby’ (or an ‘accident’, if they were feeling funny). Winifred, getting on in years and already having three children and several miscarriages, hadn’t been keen on trying for another after Lily herself. But then, when she just turned five, Mama said she was having a baby anyways.

Not that Lily had minded that in the least of course. In fact, she’d been more than excited to have a younger sibling. For one, it meant  _she_  was no longer the baby of family and for two, it meant that the attention finally shifted away from her, which was of great relief to her. Bucky and Becca didn’t really understand why she felt that way, loving the spotlight as they did.

But Lily wasn’t like her siblings.

Bucky and Becca were loud and talkative and always charming. They were universally  _adored_  and Annie showed all the signs of being the same, much to everyone’s pleasure. Lily, on the other hand, was quiet by nature and painfully shy. She didn’t like the attention the other Barnes children seemed to crave. Even at the tender age of six she knew she was cut from a different cloth than them.

No, she was far more like Steve than she was like her siblings. He might have twice the guts she did, but he also understood what it was like to not want to be noticed. Lily never liked it when adults singled her out or tried to get her to engage and make her do something on command. She wasn’t good at performing or talking like the other Barnes children were, always stumbling over her words or hiding behind Mama’s skirt. She preferred the safety of numbers and calculations and was  _good_  at it too, already having surpassed Becca in skill level. Mama often said she was ‘gifted’. Bucky called her his ‘smart little lady’. Becca asked for her help when she was struggling. Daddy never said anything about it; he didn’t care.

Lily tried not to think about that though. She knew it wasn’t normal for a girl to like numbers so much. But she didn’t want to stop either. It always felt like everything was too loud around her and numbers were the only things that made  _sense_ , they made everything quiet... the way she liked it.

Having Annie here now made it better for her. Daddy had stopped paying attention to Lily altogether, had stopped trying to take her numbers from her. And Annie, though was only a baby, never minded Lily babbling at her about the new equation she’d just figured out. Lily loved Annie for that, just like she loved Bucky and Steve and Becca.

So she actually didn’t mind much, being left behind with the boys when the others were at the market. Being able to avoid the hubbub of the crowd was almost worth the nauseating feeling in her stomach, the deep ache in her chest. Lily suddenly coughed harshly, as if in reminder, sending shocks of pain through her. With a whimper, she burrowed herself deeper into the blankets, wanting to go back to sleep. But no matter what she did the coughs kept coming, making her eyes water. She said her times tables to herself in an attempt to calm down, only to find even that didn’t work.

Not knowing what else to do, Lily pushed herself up on weak legs, wrapped the thickest blanket around her shoulders and went to find her brother. Bucky would know what to do. He was always the best at taking care of everyone, especially when they were sick. He should be, considering how often he had to take care of Steve. Lily really wanted that now, wanted Bucky’s familiar laughter and warm hugs. She wanted Bucky to distract by teaching her more numbers; he was still a lot better at it than she was. Steve told her once that Bucky had been the best in his class and all the teachers loved him even though he was a troublemaker.

Lily pushed herself through the doorway and into the living space, immediately hearing a noise from the kitchenette. She glanced at it and froze.

Bucky had Steve pinned against the counter, his hands almost spanning the smaller man’s waist whilst Steve’s were clutched in his hair, making whimpering noises. For a moment, Lily thought that Bucky was  _hurting_  Steve, that Steve was trying to push him off. Her mind immediately protested against that thought. Bucky would  _never_  hurt Steve, he wouldn’t hurt  _anyone_. He wasn’t like Daddy.

Then Lily realized they were  _kissing_.

 _But they’re boys_ , she found herself thinking.

“Bucky?” she asked after a long moment, confused.

Her voice broke both her brother and Steve out of whatever trance they were in and they immediately ripped themselves from each other. They turned to her, wearing twin expressions of panic, eyes wide. Bucky’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, his usual confidence far from sight. Then, suddenly, something in his expression shuttered and he forced a smile. He hastily made his way too her, crouching down in front of her to tug the blanket tighter around her.

“Lily, shouldn’t you be in bed? You’ll only get sicker out here,” he started saying, the words coming out unnaturally tight. “Has your chest been hurtin’? Maybe we’ll make you some warm tea, huh? Hey Steve, put the kettle on, will you? Don’t worry, you’ll feel better soon–”

“You were kissing,” Lily interrupted, causing Bucky to pale. “I saw you.”

He rubbed a hand tiredly over his face, regarding her carefully. “Yeah, we were,” he admitted.

“I– I don’t understand.”

“Well,” he paused, glancing up at Steve, who’d come up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder, “kissing is something people do when they love someone.”

“And me and Buck really love each other, Lily,” Steve added.

Lily looked at the two of them, still confused. She already knew they  _loved_  each other. She loved them as well. But she thought kissing was for a different kind of love, like the love between husband and wife (at least that’s what Mama always tried to tell her). Unless Bucky and Stevie loved each other like  _that_ … she’d never heard of husband and  _husband_  before though. She had seen men hanging off each other in seedier parts of the neighborhood a couple of times, but it had always made Mama pull her the other way and got Daddy  _so_  angry. He called them fairies (amidst other,  _worse_  words) and said they were disgusting, that God would give them what was coming to them.

At the thought of her father, Lily felt terror sink into her bones. If Daddy knew about this, he was going to hurt Bucky worse than usual. And Steve, he’d hurt him too. She was almost more worried about him hurting Steve because he was so little (even Becca was a bit taller than him) and he already got so sick all the time. If Daddy hurt their Steve, Lily was pretty sure he would end up  _killing_  him.

“Does this mean you’re fairies?” she asked them both, voice small and scared. She clutched her blanket closer around herself.

“I’m not sure what I am. I  _like_  girls, I do. But I’m also in love with this punk here,” Bucky said. “So if that makes me a fairy, so be it.”

Lily shook her head urgently, fingers so tight against the fabric of the blanket her knuckles turned a ghastly white. “No,  _no_.”

“What’s the matter, Lily darlin’?” her brother asked, hands cupping her elbows.

“You can’t be  _fairies_ , you  _can’t_ ,” she exclaimed desperately, her fists coming up to pound at his chest.

Bucky’s face twisted in pain, eyes suspiciously wet, his large hands catching her fists in an attempt to stop her. Still, she fought against him, so much so that Steve had to help keep her still, wrapping skinny arms around her shaking body.

“You can’t!” she shouted. “Daddy’s gonna hurt you and he’s gonna  _kill_  Steve! And then you’re gonna be  _sad_  and you’re gonna drink like Daddy does when  _he’s_  sad and, and, and–” Her words trailed off, voice choked. All the fight suddenly went out of her and she fell forward into Bucky, who didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms tightly around her. She put her face into his neck and allowed herself to be comforted by his hug, just like she’d wanted earlier.

“That’s  _not_  going to happen, Lily. I won’t let Dad hurt Steve or any of you girls; I swear it on my own damn grave,” he told her vehemently, his hand rubbing soothing circles into her back.

She shook her head against his neck, arms clutching him tighter.

“Besides,” Steve started from beside them, his hand joining Bucky’s on her back, “your dad’s never going to find out. We’ll be better at keeping our secret. Though we could use your help with keeping it, if you’d be all right with that. ”

Lily peeked up from her brother’s neck, her tears slowly starting to dry. “A secret?”

“Yeah, darlin’, that’s the only way Stevie and me can stay safe,” Bucky told her seriously, smoothing her hair back from her face.

“Even from Becca and Annie?”

“Well, not from Becca; she already knows. So if you want to talk to someone about it when we’re not here, you can talk to her. But Annie’s still a baby, she’s too little to understand.”

“Becca knows?” Lily perked up at the thought. If their sister knew then she could help protect the boys. Becca was better at that kind of thing than she was.

“Yeah, you know how hard it is to keep a secret from Becca,” Bucky said teasingly.

She nodded sagely at that. Oh did she know. The eldest Barnes girl always seemed to find out when one of them was keeping something from her. The last time Lily and Bucky had tried it hadn’t ended well for either of them (they may or may not have broken Ma’s only vase and then tried to blame it on Annie… Becca hadn’t much appreciated them blaming an innocent baby).

“But I can’t tell Mama? Or Mrs. Rogers?” Lily asked, frowning.

“Or anyone else,” Steve said as her brother nodded in agreement. Both of them looked very serious about this, all former playfulness gone.

“I don’t like asking you to do this, but Ma and Dad wouldn’t understand. Not like you and Becca,” Bucky rubbed his face tiredly.

“So… long as I don’t say nothing, Steve and you’ll be safe?”

“Yeah, Lily darlin’, we’ll be here to bother you for a long time.”

Normally, his reassurances would be enough for her, but she had to be sure this time. So she leaned forward and clutched Bucky’s big face in between her small hands, his stubble tickling her fingertips. “Promise?”

Bucky smiled, his eyes shining with something akin to awe. “I promise,” he whispered back. And Lily, for all her faith in numbers and the tangible, believed his promise… found faith in something new. She wasn’t to realize that faith could only do so much until much later.

(Her older sister  _had_  always told them that secrets never ended well, that someday, some way, you would have to pay for then. Lily just hadn’t known at the time that her dues came in the form of a broken promise.)

 

* * *

 

_**~ 1939 ~**_

 

Annie was three years old the first time she was scared of her daddy. Annie loved Daddy, see, and he loved her back. She was his precious little princess; he never got mad at her like he did at everyone else. Even when he stunk after a long night out, he never did anything but give her big hugs and press sloppy, wet kisses to her cheeks. Sometimes he’d lift her up and dance around their little home with her, making her spill into uncontrollable giggles.

She really didn’t understand why her sisters and Bucky were so different around Daddy, why they watched him so warily. He seemed nothing but nice to her. 

Annie didn’t think much of it though; her days were too full of playing and laughing. She lived a simple, happy life. Mama was always around to help her and give her the best food she could offer. Becca took really good care of her, keeping her well dressed and clean. Lily was her best friend and the only one who never said no to a game (though she did tend to talk a lot of nonsense during their games, using words Annie couldn’t even think to understand). Bucky didn’t live with them anymore but he still came home a lot to help Mama and throw Annie up into the air like a sack of potatoes (that he caught easily, of course). Some days Stevie came with him and those were her favorite because he always took a minute to draw her something nice or sit with her and play with her hair. He also knew the best way to wrap her knees when she scraped them, his hands much softer than Becca’s or Bucky’s.

Daddy was still her favorite person though, she liked that he thought she was special. In her three-year-old mind, he could do no wrong. She may not see him much (even less than Steve) but he spent most of the time he was home with Annie.

This was one of those rare visits. Daddy had decided to take Annie out, parading her in front of the neighborhood. He even went so far as to buy her a new dress just for the occasion (she never got anything new, just stuff from her sisters). Her daddy was in a happy mood, letting her babble his ear off as he carried her on his hip, which none of the other daddies around did. Sometimes he jostled her a bit to take a long sip from his silver flask, but she hardly cared; she was too busy basking in the full glory of his attention on her.

The afternoon light was soon fading, however, and with it George Barnes’ mood slowly turned sour.

Daddy put Annie down on their walk back home, claiming he was too tired to carry her any longer, instead taking her small hand in his clammy one. At first it wasn’t so bad, but then he started walking too fast for her to keep up, dragging her along deserted back alleys uncomfortably. Annie found herself stumbling over the stones of the darkening streets, falling hard onto the ground, tearing up her knees and ripping her new dress in the process. 

There was a moment of stunned silence and then Annie burst into loud sobs, upset at the state of her clothes, her knees stinging something fierce. It seemed like the worst pain she’d ever felt and she was completely inconsolable. 

She couldn’t see the anger on her father’s face through her tears, however, so when he crouched down beside her, she thought it was to offer comfort. But Daddy didn’t pick her up and soothe her like Mama did, nor did he try to make her laugh Bucky would. No, Daddy grabbed harshly at her shoulders, squeezing painfully tight, looking down at her with disgusted eyes.

“Damned, fool child, do you have any idea how much this cost, huh? And you had to go and wreck it!” he hissed, picking at the rip in her dress, completely ignoring the blood on her knees. His breath was heavy with the smell of whatever he always kept in his flask, his fingers digging into her skin. 

Annie was horribly confused, her eyes still spilling over with tears, breath coming faster in panic. She didn’t understand why Daddy was so mad at her. Was it her fault? Maybe it was. Daddy never got mad at her, so he must be mad for a reason.

She cried harder at the thought, the idea of being a disappointment to the person she loved most settling heavily in her stomach, making it churn. Her tears only seemed to make him even angrier. 

“Would you quit making so much noise? Are you tryin’ to embarrass me?” he asked, looming over her. In the back of her mind, she realized for the first time how  _big_  Daddy was, how scary he looked in the darkened alleyway. It made her think of the monsters in the books Becca read to her. 

Annie tried to stifle her cries, afraid, but it didn’t work. She only got louder in her blinding panic.

“Stop crying. _Stop_. _Crying_.”

She didn’t. Her disobedience was met with an unforgiving slap across her face, sending tumbling back to the ground. Her cheek exploded in pain, her world fading in and out hazily for a moment. She barely heard Daddy yelling about something in the background. 

“You and your goddamn sisters and that good-for-nothing brother of yours always making my life hell. Don’t even get me started on your fucking whore mother, ungrateful bitch that she is.”

Although Annie didn’t understand everything he was saying, she knew they were ugly words, that you were  _never_  supposed to say words like that…

She didn’t like this Daddy. This wasn’t  _her_  Daddy. It couldn’t be.

“Get  _away_  from her!” someone suddenly shouted. Annie knew that voice; of course she did. She’d heard it all her life. Mere seconds later, Steve Rogers came running into the alleyway, his face red with exertion and his eyes angrier than she’d ever seen them. 

He wedged himself between her and Daddy, one hand reaching down towards her, though he kept his eyes firmly on Daddy. Something – some animal instinct – in Annie knew she had to get up and stay close to her savior, but she  _couldn’t_. It  _hurt_. Her cheek burned with pain, the back of her head throbbing from where she’d hit the ground. Her eyes hurt too as tears kept falling and falling and falling.

She tried. She tried so hard to get to her legs, to her feet. But she couldn’t, she couldn’t, she  _couldn’t_.

So Annie curled herself into a tight ball, hiding her head in her arms. She wanted home. She wanted Mommy and Lily and Becca. She wanted Bucky and Stevie.

She wanted  _her_  Daddy. Not this mean, terrible man who hurt her.

“This ain’t none of your business, boy! That’s my daughter, my family, so you’ll step away if you know what’s good for you,” she heard the mean man say now, words slurring together.

“I don’t think so,” Steve replied and he didn’t sound scared at all. Annie had always known – distantly – that Stevie wasn’t the biggest man, that everyone around them thought he was weak. But he’d always been brave in Annie’s eyes; like a knight from one of her stories, coming to their house with his face all blue and purple or yellow and green after he’d saved someone. At least that’s what Bucky told her once when she’d asked, though his eyes had gotten all sad whenever he saw Steve’s bruised face.

She was grateful for Stevie’s bravery now though, feeling it even as she lay curled in on herself.

“Get out of my way, you worthless fucking fai–”

“No,” Steve repeated, firm,  _knightly_. 

Annie dared to peer through her hands, saw Stevie standing a couple of steps in front of her, fists clenched by his side. But then Daddy’s eyes turned down to her and Annie didn’t like it, she didn’t like it at all because it was still the bad man, not Daddy. So she closed her eyes tight-tight-tight, whimpering when she heard the bad man shout even worse words and there were the harsh sounds of flesh against flesh. She put her hands over her ears, but even then she could hear the shouting.

“Why won’t you just stay down, ya little–”

“ _Hey!_ ” Came a different shout from the mouth of the alleyway, along with thundering footsteps. “Get  _off_  him!”

“Course my son is right behind you, been following you like a dog since the day you arrived,” the bad man hissed in Daddy’s voice, the sound of fist against flesh still ringing in Annie’s ears.

“I said,  _get_   _off_!”

Annie blinked her eyes open long enough to see Bucky tearing towards them, tackling the bad man bodily off where he had was aiming a kick at Steve’s unprotected torso. Bucky crushed Daddy against the nearest brick wall, holding him up by the fabric of his shirt.

Annie cried out; she didn’t want to watch anymore, didn’t want to hear anymore. But then Stevie was climbing to his feet again. He was by her side seconds later, fingers reaching for her shoulder. Annie flinched back, expecting more pain and fear (she heard the  _crack_  of Daddy’s hand against her cheek in her head again).

“Sh, Annie,” he whispered, moving so he blocked her view of Bucky and Daddy. “It’s just me. It’s just Steve.”

This time when he reached for her, she didn’t flinch. Steve’s long fingers ran softly through her tangled hair, coaxing her to look up at him. “There you are.”

“Stevie,” she whimpered, lifting her arms up to him desperately. “Hurts.” 

He lifted her safely into her arms without hesitation, hand rubbing her back comfortingly. Annie buried her aching face in his neck, still crying but quieting down. There was something soothing about Stevie, always was. (She’d heard Mama say he had a magic touch, especially with Annie.)

“Sh, I’ve got you now. I’ve got you now,” Steve told her, rocking her against him. “We won’t let him hurt you again, I  _promise_.”

Annie believed him, this knight that came straight out of her stories. 

“Hurts,” she whimpered again, feeling the stinging of her face, her knees.

“I know, Annie-girl,” he coaxed her head up again, putting his forehead to hers with all gentleness. “But we’ll get you fixed up in no time, Annie, I swear. Just gotta get you home,” Steve said, keeping his back turned to the scene behind him. (She would later realize he’d tried to protect her from the violence behind him.)

“Want home,” Annie mumbled, “Please, Stevie, want home.”

“We’ll go soon. It’s almost over.”

Steve ran a careful hand over the back of her head, so she lay her uninjured cheek on his shoulder, peering back to where she’d last seen Bucky and the mean man.

Bucky was still holding the mean man against the wall, the expression on his face like nothing she’d ever seen. It was  _terrifying_ , but Annie couldn’t look away, frozen in Steve’s arms. The mean man’s face was swollen now, bleeding. 

Bucky pulled Daddy back only to slam him back into the wall with a loud  _smash_. “I want you gone, do you hear me? You’re never going to show your face to any of us again, you’re never going to  _touch_  any of us again, you’re not even gonna  _breathe_  in our direction… or I swear to all that’s holy, you’re dead. Do you understand?”

Bucky shoved the mean man away from him then, making him stumble into the ground. Her brother made a disgusted sound, his face twisted with it.

Not-Daddy stood back up, still somehow holding that terrible bottle of his. He took another swig. “I don’t think so,” he said, with a cruel laugh. 

“Oh, but  _I_  do,” Bucky replied darkly. “Now. Do you  _understand_?”

Annie realized then that Bucky was big too; like Daddy. He might be a bit shorter than Daddy, but he was broader, arms thicker from his work at the docks. Daddy seemed to realize it too; something strange crossed his face, something like fear, and he finally stepped away, taking another swig from his bottle. 

“You’re going to regret this, boy,” George Barnes said, strain in his voice.

Bucky took a menacing step forward. “The only thing I  _regret_  is not doing this sooner.”

The mean man sneered at his son, but scrambled out of the alley without another word.

Finally Annie could move again, and she pressed herself into Steve – safe Stevie – as far as she could, not wanting to meet this version of Bucky. Daddy had become mean and Bucky was mean to him, so would he be mean to her too?

She whimpered into Steve as she heard footsteps come closer. “Whatsa matter, Annie?” Steve whispered, “It’s over now, it’s all alright. We can go home now.”

“Oh  _Annie_ , come here,” Bucky said as soon as he got to their sides. She could feel him reaching for like he had thousands of times before.

“No!” Annie shouted, shaking her head, voice pitched high with fear.

 “…Annie?” Bucky whispered, hands still hovering over her back.

But Annie dug her face deeper into Steve’s neck, hiding. She didn’t want to see more anger. Not from Daddy. Not from Bucky. His voice had been scary; nothing like the big brother who braided her hair for her or told her silly jokes just to get her to laugh. Not like her big brother who always gave the best cuddles and let her dance on his feet. She didn’t want a mean Bucky.

“Annie, Annie,  _please_ ,” Bucky said, voice losing all its menace as it began to tremble, became thick like Lily’s did when she was about to cry.

“Bucky can help, Annie,” Steve told her, sounding similarly heartbroken. “He’s real good at making ya feel better. Trust me.”

“Annie, I won’t hurt you, I swear,” Bucky said. “Come here, peanut.  _Please_.”

She dared to look up at him then, finding no more anger or meanness in him. No, it was only Bucky,  _her_ Bucky, with big, sad eyes and outstretched arms. He was a little bloody and dirty, but it was definitely him.

Annie practically jumped from Steve to Bucky, almost falling in the process, were it not for her brother’s years of experience and sure grip. He let out a sound of sheer  _relief_ , pressing careful kisses to her head.

“‘m sorry, Bucky,” Annie sobbed, entire body shaking with it.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.  _Nothing_ ,” Bucky insisted, kissing her temple again.

“Want home now. Please, Bucky.” She wanted Mama and Lily and Becca too. And she wanted Bucky to stay with them like he did sometimes, sleeping on the old couch and never minding when Annie jumped on him in the morning. 

“Yeah, peanut, we’re going home.”

“Stevie too?” What if the mean man found Stevie?

Steve rubbed her back from where he stood next to them. “Steve too,” he said.

Annie nodded. “Home now.”

Bucky grinned, even through the seriousness of the situation. “Always the little boss.”

They began the slow trek back to the apartment, hobbling along, a mess of injuries. It wasn’t made easy by Annie’s insistence on holding Steve’s hand while Bucky carried her. But she didn’t want to lose either of them and they didn't complain.

Most of what happened when they got home was a blur to her. She was aware of more panic, this time from her mother and sisters. She felt gentle, loving hands bandaging her knees, icing her cheek ( _Mama_ ), all while two other hands held hers ( _Lily and Becca_ ). And then Bucky picked her up again, let her cling to him with all the determination of a small child. 

In the quiet aftermath of it, Annie sat cradled in Bucky’s lap, her head against his chest so she could hear the stead thump-thump-thump of his heart. His hand ran softly through her hair as he told her the tale of Goldilocks and the three bears, her favorite bedtime story. By the time he finished, Annie’s eyes were droopy, her fingers loosening from where they had been clenched in the fabric of his shirt.

Just as sleep was pushing her down, Bucky’s hand stilled in her hair. “I love you so much, Annie,” he whispered. “And I need you to know that I would never,  _ever_  hurt you. Never. You and the girls mean so much to me. I’m your brother. You don’t ever have to be scared of me. Not ever.”

Annie, for all her youth, knew this moment was important. There was something in her brother’s voice; a kind of desperation that she rarely heard from adults. So she forced her eyes open and looked up at him, blinking sleepily. His eyes were swimming with emotion that she couldn’t begin to understand. So she just patted his chest with her little hand.

“I know, Bucky,” she mumbled, “you ain’t Daddy.”

Bucky made a noise like a sob before pulling her in even tighter, kissing the top her head. “You’re somethin’ else, Annie, you really are.” 

Normally, Annie wouldn’t like being squished like this, but Bucky was holding her carefully, his arms bringing her nothing but comfort as they rocked back and forth ever so slightly. She could feel her eyes start to droop again; the tears long dry on her cheeks. With the steady beating of a strong heart underneath her ear, she finally fell into dreamless sleep. 

Bucky stayed home with her and her sisters that night just like she’d hoped. He stayed and he held her while she slept. Annie would remember that for the rest of her life.

It would be one of her earliest memories; and one of the few would have of her brother.

 

* * *

 

_**~ 1942 ~** _

 

Bucky was twenty-five years old and he was leaving. God, he wished he wasn’t. Wished he could go back and never have opened that goddamned letter; like not having seen it, read it, meant that it had never existed in the first place. The fuckin’  _draft_.

He was off to Europe tomorrow. The front. The  _war_. And, God forgive him, he was so fuckin’ terrified. He wasn’t like Steve, who dreamt of doing his duty. No, Bucky had always been a coward – only stepping in at the very last second.

But he couldn’t give into the thoughts of pain and death and bullets shot from all sides. No, instead his last weeks stateside had been plagued with thoughts of his family. Who was going to make sure they were taken care of? His baby sisters, his ma.

(And then there was Steve. Stevie. Beautiful,  _reckless_  Stevie. Who would be here to keep him warm now?)

God, saying goodbye to the girls was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He got it out of the way early, told them he was leaving tonight rather than tomorrow morning. Told them they didn’t need to see him off, that he’d rather have their goodbye in the comfort of their childhood home. (Selfishly, he wanted his last night to be just him and Steve. That way Bucky only had to be strong for one person, not four. ‘Sides, the girls wouldn’t enjoy him tonight, when his smile was brittle and fake.)

His ma had watched silently as he and Becca had ribbed each other mercilessly, teasing while swallowing down the lumps in their throats. She’d hugged him of course, but only briefly, trying to keep it together for their little sisters. Bucky was sure she would keep an eye on them for him. But, God almighty, he wished he could help her with it… wished he could stay and watch out for her too. But Becca was eighteen now, insisted she was all grown, that she didn’t need no one fighting her battles for her. That was Steve’s influence right there and Bucky was goddamned glad for it. Becca had the spine to do great things in a world that was largely against her. Bucky was so fuckin’ proud of her and he made sure to tell her that, in that small moment of silence where he held her to him.

Next was Lily, who’d stood in front of him shuffling her feet, quiet as always. Her thick eyeglasses were slipping from her nose, too big for her. Bucky thumbed them up for her; he’d worked extra shifts at the docks for three months to help her get them, to let her finally stop squinting at all her books. Lily didn’t say much to him, just held his hand and let him muss up her hair. Bucky’d made her promise to check Becca’s spelling when they wrote to him, which she solemnly swore to do, all while Becca squawked indignantly in the background. He left her with a quick kiss to her head, before he’d had to bend and catch little Annie, who ran to him without hesitation.

She didn’t even really understand what was going on, of course, just knew that he would be going away for a while. It was enough to make her cling to him a little desperately, arms and legs tight.

 _God, Annie_. Would she even remember him if he came back? She was only five; practically still a baby.

But Bucky did what he had to; he gave her a tight squeeze back before twirling around as fast as he could to make her giggle. She’d told him ‘again’ and he’d obliged her, but just the once. Her laughter would surely have stopped if she’d seen the suspicious wetness in Bucky’s eyes.

He’d left his ma for last. Of course he had. Winifred Barnes had been a pillar of strength in his life since the day he’d been born. He’d planned on trying to get her to smile, like he’d done with the girls, but Winifred was having none of that. Instead she held out her hand to him and told him they were going outside, leaving absolutely no room for argument.

“Just to the end of the block,” she’d insisted.

And Bucky, at twenty-five and in full uniform, could only nod and say ‘yes ma’am’.

“Now, isn’t this better,” Winnie had said when they were outside, her thin arm threaded through his. “Need to give your ma a chance to walk with her son while he’s all handsome in his uniform.”

“ _Ma_ ,” Bucky groaned, to which she just laughed lightly. 

They walked in silence for a little while, until finally Winnie looked up at her son. “I never said thank you, did I?”

Bucky looked back, confused. “For what?”

Winnie pulled them to stop, turning to face him fully. “For everything, James. You’ve done so much for me and for your sisters. I shouldn't have put that all on you.”

 _Oh._ “I was fine, Ma,” Bucky insisted, his uniform suddenly feeling too tight, a thousand memories playing through his head.

Winnie took his hands, cradled them carefully as she stared at him with eyes full of decades-old regret. “You weren’t. You were too young for what you were put through.”

Bucky opened his mouth to disagree (because how could he have done any different, they were his  _family_ ), but Winnie lifted a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, don’t try to argue with me about this. I know my sins. I know I failed you,” she paused then, staring at their entwined hands. “I gotta ask… I gotta ask if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, for not protecting you like I should have.”

“Ma, there isn’t anything to forgive,” Bucky replied immediately. And there wasn’t, not to him. His mother had always done the best she could for him, putting her heart and body on the line. It wasn’t her fault George couldn’t control his drink or his temper.

Still, she looked sad at his answer, guilt-ridden. Maybe Bucky felt like he didn’t need to forgive anything – because she’d done nothing wrong in his eyes – but maybe… maybe she needed it. 

So he squeezed her hands gently, waited for her to meet his eyes. “But, for what it’s worth, you have mine anyways.”

Relief flooded his ma’s face. “Thank you, sweetheart. You don’t know what it means to hear that.” 

He squeezed her hands again, smiling down at her. It suddenly occurred to him that he couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a quiet moment like this, just the two of them. Bucky loved his sisters dearly, but being one of four afforded him little time with the matriarch of their family. Her thumbs traced over the backs of his hands soothingly and Bucky let himself lull into the comfort that was Winnie’s presence.

“Oh, my boy,” she said, voice thick and eyes shining, “I’m going to miss you.”

Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’ll miss you too, Mama.”  _So much_.

Winnie made a concerned sound at the single tear that fell from his eyes, immediately pulling him into her familiar embrace. Bucky felt surrounded by her warmth, her familiar scent – he let himself be consoled by it, let it calm him.  _I might leave, but Ma will be here._

“Take care of them for me. Please. And don’t let him back in the apartment. Not when I’m gone. Promise me,” he whispered to her, voice breaking with the emotion of it.

Winnie squeezed him a bit tighter. “I promise. I promise. Never again.”

Bucky nodded, eyes burning. His breathing hitched in his chest, panic setting in. Winnie seemed to feel it too, pulling back and cupping his face in her small hands. 

“James, look at me,” the sheer  _command_  in her voice forced his eyes up to hers, finding his mother giving a look of such determination that it sent chills down his spine.

God help whoever stood in Winnie Barnes’ way. 

“You’ve taken such good care of us your entire life,” she continued, stroking her thumbs along his cheekbones. “I’m sorry that I put that on you, baby, I’m so sorry. We’ll be all right. We  _will_. You only think of yourself now, ya hear? I don’t care what it takes, you come home to us. You come home to your family. You survive.”

And, although Bucky damn well knew better, he nodded; an unspoken promise. His ma smiled at him for it, standing on the tips of her toes to press a kiss to his temple.

“Good,” she told him, standing back to adjust his uniform a bit. “Now, I’ve taken up enough of your time and I don’t want you dwelling about tomorrow anymore tonight. So, you go and enjoy your last night, James. Be the young man you are.”

Bucky’s brows raised in surprise. “How did you-?”

“You should know by now that very little gets past me,” she replied, eyes twinkling. Bucky felt the immediate urge to apologize to her, which she promptly shot down. “And don’t even think of saying sorry. You’re your own man, and if you need the night to yourself to get through this, then that’s what you’ll get.” 

The surge of unadulterated affection he had for this woman shocked even him. Bucky ducked down to give her another quick hug. “Thank you, Mama. I love you,” he said, voice soft. 

It’d been a while since he last told her, so he was unsurprised by the sudden wetness of her eyes. “I love you too, sweetheart. Now go,” she gave him a little push, “and you better be writing us every chance you get.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky replied, snapping her a salute.

His ma laughed at that and it was only because she was smiling that he had the strength to turn around and walk away. Despite the fact that she clearly knew he was choosing not to spend his last night with her, his chest felt slightly lighter.

Still, he had one last person to see. And this… this would be the hardest, he knew.

(Loving Steven Grant Rogers would never be easy. Sarah Rogers had known this. And now Bucky knew it too. Intimately.) 

When he finally found Steve – in an alleyway, being beat on by some ignorant prick that made Bucky see red – Bucky put on a brave face, tried to make light of his looming deployment. So, instead of saying the thousand things he really wanted to, he told Steve about the dates he’d found them. He’d been trying to distance himself some, see, tried to remind Steve and himself that they couldn’t go on like this. The army wouldn’t allow for it, with it’s strict rules. And besides, he wanted Steve to be happy, living his fullest life – that meant a wife and kids. The whole shebang. It didn’t mean living in sin with Bucky. 

He’d felt so guilty about keeping Steve to himself for so long. Steve wasn’t like Bucky after all, he wasn’t  _wrong_. He could love other people; women. But Bucky. Well, Bucky could only ever love Steve.

Even with all this knowledge, Bucky ended up breaking his own rules, taking Stevie to bed like he had so many times before. But this was the last time. It was. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t  _fair_. He wasn’t going to be holding Steve back when he had a target on his chest… when Steve – who was everything good in this world, down to that pigheaded stubbornness that would kill him some day – clearly deserved better.

So Bucky decided that this was their last time together and he let himself fully have this one last night. Let himself kiss Steve, true and deep. Let himself run his hands across flushed skin, listen to Stevie’s sweet, familiar sounds.

And the next morning, he left. Without a word. Because he knew,  _he knew_ , that if he said goodbye to Steve, it would break him. It would all become real. Saying those words… it would be his end. So he’d given his goodbye through loving touches and he’d disappeared. 

Cowardly, definitely. But it was also survival.

And wasn’t that what being a soldier was all about really? Not fighting for noble causes, but rather just simple survival, that base animal instinct that allowed men to slaughter each other.

Bucky was going to be a survivor. This… this was just the first step.

(But oh, how he would regret it later, not saying goodbye to Steve, not letting the other man hold him and comfort him and love him. Oh, how he would regret letting Steve go when he saw the connection between him and Peggy Carter. Oh, how he would  _always_  regret giving into fear – even years later, when his memories were returned to his broken body and he needed to fight his way back to himself. 

But, that wasn’t now. And he wasn’t ready to understand the mistake he’d made. Not yet.

Not yet.)

 

* * *

 

_**~ 1943 ~** _

 

Steve was twenty-five years old and he was almost foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than he was a few months ago. He was twenty-five years old when all three Barnes sisters saw him for the first and only time in his new body.

The USO tour had been dragging on and on, Steve going from state to state every couple days. It had been a dream of Steve’s, to be able to see so much of his country and to be able to do it with clear lungs and a sharp mind. But he hadn’t dreamed it would be like this. That he would be wearing tights on stage and saying rehearsed lines about the glory and fortune of war. He hadn’t expected to be using the title of captain when he hadn’t  _earned_  it.

And he hadn’t expected to do this alone. He hadn’t expected to be without Bucky. God, Steve would give  _anything_  to have Bucky here with him now, all warmth and fondness and aching desire. But Bucky was off fighting in Europe. Without Steve.

 _Goddamnit,_ it wasn’t  _fair_! Why should Bucky be out there risking his life? Why not Steve?

But, no. Steve was here, with his new, strong body, being glorified for nothing more than wearing the stars-and-stripes on stage and saying a few clever lines about the war effort. And he got applauded for it, as if he was some sort of goddamned hero, when the  _real_  heroes were probably getting shot at right this second.

Like Bucky. Worry gnawed at Steve’s stomach whenever he thought of him; he hadn’t heard from him in  _months_ , longer than they’d ever gone without talking since they were six and seven respectively. 

Steve tried to comfort himself with the thought that the letters probably just weren’t reaching him time, what with him moving from city to city so constantly. He’d told Bucky he would be away for a while in his last letter, keeping the reasons for it vague. (Never would have worked if Steve had tried  _that_  face-to-face. Steve couldn’t lie to save his life – and definitely not to Bucky.)

So there were probably reasons why he hadn’t gotten anything back recently. Good reasons. Logical,  _safe_  ones. And yet it was still hard not to think that the worst was happening across the ocean… that Bucky could be lying dead in a ditch right now, horrible red pouring out.

Thoughts like that had been plaguing Steve since the moment Bucky had left him, without even a parting goodbye. Haunted him.

If Steve closed his eyes now, he could still picture Bucky as he last saw him. Last  _really_  saw him, the night before he left. Bucky had been miles of glistening golden skin as he lay naked next to him, still breathing heavily from their activities just moments before. His dark hair had curled into his eyes, which had been filled with satisfaction and the remnants of pure, unadulterated  _want_. Steve remembered longing to draw him, to immortalize the moment, the sheer human beauty of it. But Bucky, always the observant one (especially when it came to Steve), had rolled Steve into him, one hand gently trapping Steve’s thin wrists against his chest, the other coming to frame his face, thumb tracing his bottom lip. Steve remembered melting into that touch, his stomach in a million familiar knots as Bucky’s eyes darkened, became hungry. He’d pressed his face into Steve’s temple, mouthing hotly along the hinge of his jaw.

“Stay, Stevie,” Bucky had whispered into his skin, “A little longer. Please, sweetheart.”

How could Steve say now to that?

The answer was simple: he couldn’t. 

God, how Steve ached for Bucky now. He hated that he slept in an empty bed every night; that there wasn’t a warm body curled against his, chest rumbling with soft snores against his back.

Funny that, for all his dreams of exploring the wider world, he now spent most of his time missing the simple comforts of his life back home. 

Still, Steve forced himself to continue with the tour; maybe it wasn’t the purpose he was made for, but it was  _something_. It also helped that their last stop before crossing to Europe was going to be in New York. Might be Manhattan, but it would be closer to home than he’d been in  _months_  and Steve made sure he had no engagements after the show. No way in hell was he wasting his last night in the US without going back to Brooklyn. 

Besides, he had other people here and he owed it to them to at least say goodbye (he knew all too well what the pain of being denied the comfort of a farewell could do). He just hoped the girls would forgive him for not telling them what he’d really been up to these past few months. Well, he hoped  _Becca_  would forgive him; Lily and Annie were still too little for grudges.

The anticipation for the evening ahead made him jittery during the show, but also made him smile wider, laugh a bit more genuinely. The showgirls noticed his good mood, thought it was because he had a date. Steve left them to their assumptions (he’d learned long ago that people’s assumptions could help you hide in plain sight).

Besides, Captain America  _was_  going to go see a girl. Three, in fact.

(No one needed to know that one of said girls was a six-year-old.) 

When the curtain fell and the autograph line dwindled into only a few stragglers, Steve was finally allowed to go. His body buzzed with nerves and excitement as he pulled on his day clothes, comforting in their plainness. God, he hoped the girls would be happy to see him. He’d missed them more than he realized. They wrote constantly, but the letters between them tended to be full of funny stories,  _light_  stories; more fantasy than reality. Steve didn’t want to worry them with the  _real_  stories, of rifle training, of experimental procedures and the bullies that filled the ranks of their army. He was sure Becca also kept her ma and little sisters from getting too sentimental with their letters for the same kind of reason; protection.

So, while it was nice to have reminders of home, it was no substitute for the real thing.

Steve was still deep in thought when he heard a building commotion outside the door of his changing room, all raised voices and clattering noises. 

“Miss, you can’t go in here,” he heard one of the troupe’s security guards – Johnny, a big guy with a bad ticker that left him unfit for military duty – say, panicking.

And then–

“Just try and stop me, you big lug–”

Steve’s eyes widened. He  _knew_ that voice. And he especially knew that voice when it was raised in righteous irritation. Without a second thought, Steve ripped open his door, almost crashing into one Rebecca Barnes.

“Becca,” he said, grinning.

She blinked up at him, big brown eyes just utterly  _shocked_  as she took him in.

All six-foot-two-inches of him.

“… _Steve?_ ”

He nodded, feeling hot under the collar. Light-headed, almost. He waved Johnny off as Becca just continued to stare at him, flustered and gaping. She let him maneuver her into his dressing room without protest, let him stay close by her side, hands hovering , as she slowly came to terms with what was happening. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she finally let out, after several minutes of tense (and highly awkward) silence. “It really  _is_  you. And here I thought Lily was seein’ things.”

“Lily’s here too?” Steve asked, surprised. 

She nodded, still looking a little pale but quickly regaining her color. “Annie wanted to come see Captain America. She loves your films,” Becca said, finally looking up to meet his eyes. “I just… I just can’t believe it’s actually you. Lily said it was, when you first got on stage. She was so sure, so I told her I’d check. I just didn’t think she’d be  _right_.” 

“It’s me, Becca. I swear on my ma’s grave,” Steve told her.

She examined him for a long moment. “God, it really is, isn’t it? What  _happened_?”

The question knocked Steve even more off-kilter; he realized he didn’t have an explanation to offer her. All the details of Project Rebirth were strictly confidential and it’s not like she would believe him even if he did tell the truth. Something in Steve felt bereft that he would never be able to share this part of himself with anyone else, never be able to talk about those experiences, about Dr. Erskine, who deserved to be more than just a forgotten footnote of history. 

But, even with all that, Steve remained tightlipped. “I can’t explain, Becca, I’m sorry I really wish I could, but I… I can’t tell you.” He cracked a forced grin then. “How about we just agree that I finally went through that grow spurt I waited so long for, huh?”

Becca let out a startled laugh, before gesturing him closer, eyes welling slightly. “Just come here already, Steven G,” she commanded. 

Steve’s grin turned real,  _happy_ , as he pulled her into a hug. It was so  _odd_  to be holding her from this angle, to have her press her head into his chest. But the strength of her arms where they surrounded his waist was just the same as it had always been. Becca’s hugs had always been like a vice, even when she’d been little and scrappy. 

Steve’s racing heart finally calmed. She was still Becca, still willing to put up with Steve’s annoying habits, no matter what size he happened to be.

“Lord, you’re taller than me now,” she said when she finally pulled back, pouting a little at the loss of her former one-inch advantage. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

Steve ruffled her hair, just like she’d done a thousand times to him over the years. Just because he could now. “Watch yourself, squirt,” he told her, laughing as she squawked, hands quickly flying up to fix her hair.

“Squirt? You’re calling  _me_  squirt? Let’s not forget your humble beginnings here, Steve.”

“I wouldn’t,” Steve replied, catching her eye to let her know how serious he was about this. Because  _of course_  he wouldn't – he didn’t want to become another one of the bullies, another one of the muscled roughnecks that used to beat him half to death while calling him a nasty slur. 

( _A good man_ , Erskine had told him. Steve planned to live up to those words, if nothing else.)

“I know you wouldn’t. Was just teasing,” Becca reached out to squeeze his arm, her reassuring smile disappearing as her eyebrows rose almost comically. She squeezed his bicep again. “ _This_ … this might take some time to get used to though, sweet  _lord_.”

Steve chuckled, sagging a little in relief. “You’re telling me.”

“Oh my– the girls! They’re here too!” Becca suddenly exclaimed, clearly just realizing Annie and Lily were still not with them. She pulled away from him completely, marching to the door. “Come on, I left them with Nancy Anderson for a little bit when I came to look for you.”

“Nancy Anderson.  _Really_?” Nancy Anderson was notorious for being one of the most beautiful girls in their neighborhood – and she was, all soft blonde hair and blue eyes. But she could also be incredibly vapid, which Steve knew from experience. 

“Ah, come off it, Steve. I know she’s not exactly a philosopher, but she could be worse. ‘Sides she offered her extra tickets to us. Apparently she’s got a big ol’ crush on Captain America.”

“…maybe I should wait here.” 

“Aw, Steve! Don’t you want to see her face when she realizes she’s already passed Captain America up?” Becca teased.

Steve winced at the reminder; the day he’d tried to ask pretty Nancy on a date (at Bucky’s insistence) had not been one of his finer ones. He shook his head. “I’d  _really_  rather not.”

She rolled her eyes, huffing a little. It was a familiar sight and left a smile on his face, which she evidently saw, if the fond light in her eyes was any indication.

“Fine, have it your way. Wait here,” Becca said, already half out the door.

Steve snapped her a mocking salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

With another eye-roll, she was gone, Steve still chuckling behind her.

The time it took for Becca to come back with Lily and Annie felt like years to Steve but was probably only around ten minutes, awash in sheer anticipation as he was. Of course, the nerves seemed to all but evaporate when an excited six-year-old sprinted through the door.

Steve ducked just in time to catch Annie, swinging her up into his arms immediately. With his new strength, she felt feather-light – but even when he’d been small, he’d carried her gladly, despite the strained trembling of his thin arms.

Annie clutched at his shoulders, little hands winding into the starched collar of his shirt. “It’s Capt’n ‘merica! Hi, Capt’n 'merica!” she exclaimed excitedly, giving him a small wave.

Steve grinned at her exuberance, surprised he wasn’t more upset about her not seeming to realize it was him. But Annie was only little. ( _And far too cute_ , his mind whispered.)

“Hi, Annie-girl,” Steve said, gently tapping the end of her nose.

Sudden confusion filled her young face, her nose scrunching as she recognized  _something_  was off here. And then it dawned on her. “ _Stevie_?”

“Yes, Annie?” Steve replied, all cheek.

Annie  _beamed_ at him, small body practically wriggling with excitement as she threw her arms around his neck. “Stevie!” she exclaimed, hiding her face in his throat.

Steve held her as softly as he could, worried he would hurt her with his serum-enhanced strength. He ran a hand up-and-down her back automatically, using the same soothing strokes that always put her to sleep after a long day, the ones his own ma had used on him when he was her age. 

She pulled away after a moment, patting his wide shoulders. “Why’re you so big?” she asked with all the innocent curiosity of a child.

“Well, I grew. Guess your ma was right about eating all those greens,” he replied, leaning in as if imparting a secret. 

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Ew,” she said, succinctly.

Steve grinned, and then tugged on her arm, holding it out as if inspecting it. “Are you sure you didn’t eat some too? Look how big  _you_  got.”

“I’m a big girl now, Stevie. Mama said!”

“Well, if  _Mama_  said…”

She giggled, nodding. And then suddenly – just because she felt like it – she smacked a sticky kiss on his cheek, before leaning her head on his shoulder, cuddling into him.

Steve’s heart ached in his chest in the best way. He cupped the back of her head. “I missed you, Annie,” he told her. 

“Missed you too, Stevie,” she whispered, before looking up at him, playing with the chain of his dog tags. “Are you  _really_  Capt’n ‘merica?

“That I am, Miss Annie.”

Her eyes got wide. “Wow. I  _knew_  you was a prince. Not a secret no more!”

Steve blinked. “A prince?” 

“Mmhm, you have yellow hair,” Annie said, matter-of-fact.

Becca let out a loud snort from their side, while Steve hid his own laughter by pressing a fond kiss to the side of Annie’s head. He let her down after that, though she kept a hold of his hand, playing with his fingers.

“Now, where’s our resident genius?” Steve asked, eyes immediately finding Lily, who was half-hidden behind her older sister. She wouldn't even look in Steve’s direction, gaze resolutely stuck on her feet. 

Becca’s brow furrowed. She nudged Lily towards him. “Go on, Lily. What are you waiting for? It’s just Steve.” 

Lily shuffled forward, arms held tight to her chest, curls hiding her face from him. “Hi,” she offered, shy with him like she hadn’t been in years. Steve felt his heart  _crack_.

Although he loved all the girls like they were his own sisters, not just Bucky’s, he’d always had a soft spot in him for Lily. She was a quiet, withdrawn girl but also the  _smartest_  person he’d ever known. It pained him that so few people took the time to get to know her, to see that sweet earnestness of hers, the intelligent light behind those eyes.

So Steve powered through, giving her a wide smile. 

“Lily darlin’, look at you. You’re practically grown.” The growth spurt she’d gone through in his absence left her all long-limbed and awkward, but Steve had an artist’s eye; he could see the woman she was growing into.

Lily pinked a little, eyes still glued down. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice thin.

Steve frowned, directing his attention back at the youngest Barnes for a brief moment.

“Hey Annie, mind if I go to your sister for a bit?”

She considered. “Only if you promise to play horse later.”

“Promise,” Steve replied, squeezing the hand that was still in his.

Annie nodded. “Guess that’s all right then.”

“Thank you.”

Becca ushered Annie to the armchair in the corner of the dressing room, quickly distracting her by grabbing some loose paper and one of Steve’s pencils, telling her little sister it would be nice if they drew something together for Steve. Annie practically attacked the task, tongue sticking out in concentration and paying no mind to the other side of the room. Becca gave him a little nod of acknowledgement before turning away as well.

It wasn't the first time that Steve thanked God for Becca Barnes.

Steve looked back at Lily, who seemed to shrink further into herself under his gaze, her long hair hiding her face. He crouched in front of her, making himself seem as small and unthreatening as possible. Slowly, he reached out and touched her elbow.

“Hey, Lily darlin’, mind looking at me? Come on, it’s just your old pal Steve.”

After a long minute, her eyes finally turned up, hesitantly meeting his.

“There you are,” Steve said, giving her elbow a small squeeze of encouragement. “What’s got you so shy now? We’ve been friends for years.”

“But you’re so different now,” she mumbled, picking at the edge of her sweater. 

“Outside, maybe. But I swear I’m still that skinny, good-for-nothing punk your brother always complained about. Nothing’s changing that.” 

Some of that hidden fire of hers came back into her gaze as she rose to his defense. “You’re not a punk, Steve. You just gotta stop getting into fights.”

(“Bet he could win ‘em now though,” Steve heard Becca mutter under her breath from across the room, thanks to his serum-enhanced senses. He made no comment on it, keeping his focus entirely on Lily.) 

“I really should start listening to you about that one of these days, huh?” 

Lily nodded, lips ticking up the slightest bit. Steve counted that as a victory.

“How did this happen?” she eventually asked, looking closely at the changes in him.

Again Steve wanted to tell her everything he knew, give her the explanation she deserved. And again he couldn’t. “I wish I could tell you all about it, Lily – maybe you could help me understand what they did. But I really can’t. I’m sorry.”

“But… you’re the same Steve?” she ventured, sharp eyes cataloguing everything. Analytical to the end. 

“Right, just a little improved.”

“I don’t know. We liked ya just fine before,” Lily insisted.

Steve smiled, touched. He chucked the bottom of her chin warmly. “I know you did.”

“Are you all healthy now though?”

Steve made a sound of affirmation. “Healthy as a horse.”

“Ain’t that great, Lils?” Becca interjected. “That means we can all stop worrying for Steve so much. He’s gonna be with us a long time now.” She gave Steve a  _look_ , telling him he better not disagree.

So he nodded. “That’s right,” he said, though he very deliberately made no promises. There was a war on – a war Steve was very determined to fight, in  _some_  way.

“It… it didn’t hurt, did it?” Lily continued, looking scared at the thought, concerned for  _him_.

“No, Lily darlin’, it didn’t,” he lied, best as he could. Steve didn’t have the heart to tell her that the pain had been near unbearable… that he’d been sure he was going to die from it searing through his bones, his muscles, his very  _being_.

Finally,  _finally_ , Lily looked reassured, offering him a little smile. “I’m real glad you’re okay, Steve.”

Steve couldn’t help but pull her close then, planting a brief kiss on her forehead as he gave her a tight squeeze. Lily leaned into him with the same trust that had always been there and,  _Jesus_ , wasn’t that something? The sheer relief alone could have been enough to topple him permanently. But Steve somehow managed to stay upright.

Even when Lily pulled away from him, she stayed close; a quiet shadow by his side. She stayed there even when they left the venue, in search of something to do, not yet ready to return to the reality of their daily lives. Or in Steve’s case, face Winifred Barnes.

He needed a little recovery time before that happened – Winnie was a veritable force of nature, and had taken over mothering Steve ever since his own ma got sick. Not that she thought she could replace who Sarah Rogers had been to him; no, Winnie had simply taken it upon herself to watch over her dearest friend’s son in the only way she knew how; with excessive fussing and some choice words whenever he came over after yet another brawl. Steve appreciated everything she did for him more than he could possibly say… but he wasn’t ready to see her. Wasn’t ready to be reminded yet again of the mother he’d lost.

So the girls and him ended up going to Coney Island instead - a starring feature in so many of Steve’s happiest memories. Bucky and Steve went a few times every summer, if they could. Although Steve couldn’t ride any of the ‘coasters (not with his constitution and the near-vomiting incident from the last time he tried), there was something magical about this place, even with all the popcorn crushed on the ground and the noise of the people all around them. Maybe it was because most of those memories had Bucky standing close to him for fear of losing each other in the crowd, his arm thrown loose around Steve’s slight shoulders. And if not his arm then it was a warm hand on the back of Steve’s neck, guiding him through the throngs of people. (No one ever saw how Bucky’s thumb stroked up and down Steve’s skin when he did that, how he traced the lines of Steve’s tense muscles, his collarbones. It had never failed to make Steve shiver.)

Coney Island with the girls was a different experience altogether, full of laughter and fierce bickering. They did everything they could, carnival games and rides and even raiding the food stands – all on Steve’s dime of course. He’d never been able to treat them before, had never even taken them to the pictures. So this was the least he could do. (Penance, he’s told Becca when she’d argued against him. A way to pay her back for not telling her what he’d been up to for the past few months, he’d said. Becca had rolled her eyes about it all, but let it go; she knew it would be the last time they saw each other for a long while.)

Lily opened up more and more as the night progressed, reaching out to take his hand every now and then, hanging on as they drifted from stall to stall. Steve was happy she hadn’t grown out of that phase yet – he wasn’t quite ready for her to be grown. The smile on his face only grew when she started stating the exact probabilities of actually winning the carnival games they played. (The attendants always soured at this little girl convincing the people around them not to waste their money, but Steve just grinned, ridiculously proud.)

Annie, in the meantime, had decided that her favorite ride was simply sitting on Steve’s shoulders – the better way to play pony, she’d told him, imperious as ever. Steve carried her easily, even when her fingers started tugging painfully at his hair. He kept one hand on one of her dangling legs – keeping her stable – but was otherwise able to move quite freely. Enough that he pretended to stumble sometimes and almost ‘drop’ Annie, only to swing her back into place at the last moment as she giggled breathlessly. It was a game he’d never played with her before, hadn’t been able to with his health, but he’d always seen Bucky do similar things again and again at the behest of his sisters. He was starting to understand why now.

An employee making idle conversation eventually asked Becca about Steve when he was busy with the other girls; asked about who he was to them, this blonde-haired giant spending his time with three tiny brunettes who looked nothing like him. But Becca had her answer ready. “He’s our brother, of course,” she said, before running up to join them again, giving Steve a cheeky wink.

His favorite part of the night, however, was when Becca dragged them all to a small photography stall near the entrance, intent on getting them all in a photo. The photographer himself had clearly set up to take pictures of just one person at a time, his camera pointed at a single stool stood in front of a painted backdrop, but Becca was nothing if not determined. She told the photographer in no uncertain terms that they would make it work.

Steve, being the tallest ( _miraculously_ ), planted himself on the stool, gathering little Annie onto his knee, holding her in place with a strong arm around her belly even as she wriggled. Lily was standing awkwardly beside him, so he tucked her under his free arm, their heights matching with him sitting and her standing. She relaxed into him, her grin more genuine as nerves settled. Becca rounded it off by deciding to stand behind them, draping her own arms around Steve’s neck and ducking a bit so their cheeks were almost pressed together.

Maybe they should have posed more formally – like that stern picture of Steve’s grandparents his ma had kept on their mantle – but Steve liked the way their photo turned out. Becca had been caught mid-laugh, eyes crinkled with it. Lily looked soft and sweet, her eyes focused on her siblings. And Annie – teeny, tiny Annie – was playing with Steve’s fingers, her hands so, so small around his. But, most importantly, they were all  _smiling_  and anyone could see the happiness was genuine. Hell, Steve looked like a dope with his big, stupid grin.

But it was a gorgeous picture, made perfect by all its imperfections. Steve memorized the details of it with his sharp mind, before he handed the actual photo to Becca. She’d be able to keep it safe for them.

He didn’t miss how Becca cradled it against her chest for a long moment, before tucking it away safely.

One day, copies of the picture would be shown in museums the country over – but always as a side note, a small anecdote that historians deemed unimportant. Only a few people who looked at it, looked at four young, smiling faces, would realize that  _hey_ , Captain America was an actual person. Fewer still would realize that Steve Rogers – famously an orphan – had still had family when he’d plunged to his icy death.

And Steve. Well Steve would never realize that Becca kept that picture with her for the rest of her life.

(Until one day, he  _did_. But that wasn’t for years to come.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... this fic is two years in the making; I literally checked the doc I had it saved in and it's from May 2016. I finally had the inspiration and motivation to actually finish and post it, but I'm really nervous still (probably because it's been so long). It's also become so much bigger than I had initially planned, so I have split it into three parts (with the next two almost finished). I really hope you enjoyed it thus far!
> 
> Next up: 'the lost years', spanning from 1946 to 2011. Hope you stay tuned!


	2. The Lost Years

**~ _1945_ ~**

 

Becca was twenty-one years old when she found out both her brothers died. The first she found out through a letter, written by one Colonel Phillips of the 107th infantry and coming two weeks too late. _I’m sorry to inform you that Sergeant Barnes was killed in the line of duty_.

A part of her had been angry about that; angry that they had to hear about it from some _stranger_ when it should have been Steve that told them. After all, Steve was Bucky’s commanding officer, wasn’t he? And Steve was their family as much as he was Bucky’s.

(Steve had been a brother to her for as long as she could remember and he couldn’t even make the time to _tell them_?)

But Becca had known even then that her anger was selfish; that it was a cruelty in the worst way. Steve and Bucky… God, they had shared a _soul_. It had been ironic actually; she hadn’t been able to accept that Bucky was gone ( _he couldn’t be, he couldn’t be_ ) but the knowledge that Steve was out there somewhere, in _that_ kind of pain… _that_ had seemed all too real.

Maybe it was because Bucky had always been a hero in all their eyes; Steve’s included. But he was Becca’s hero especially. More than that, he was her best and most loyal _friend_. Bucky Barnes had always been larger than life; invincible. To have him be gone was unacceptable. Unfathomable. He just _couldn’t_ be gone. Not her brother. Not her Bucky.

It couldn’t be real.

Steve’s pain, on the other hand, was tragically familiar territory. He’d spent so much of his life on the brink, had experienced losses that she hadn’t. (Sarah Rogers had been a good, kind woman who was taken far too soon.)

So, Becca had been able to mourn for Steve’s loss. But she hadn’t even thought to mourn for her own. She _wouldn’t_. It just wasn’t real. It couldn’t possibly be.

And then, mere hours later, she found out about the second death in the family, only this time there was no personal letter, no well-meant but ill-received condolences given by a colonel. No, she learned about Steve’s death through _newspapers_. _Captain America and his Heroic Sacrifice,_ one headline had proclaimed proudly. 

 _Proudly_.

Everything in her had numbed at the sight and somehow, someway she’d managed to stumble her way home. (She’d only gone out for a minute to get some air, to breathe while that letter – that goddamned letter – burned a hole in her pocket.) 

She remembered, even now, that her mind had been caught on a single thought. They hadn’t even used his _name_. Steve Rogers hadn’t even been mentioned once.

And, beneath her all-compassing numbness, her heart had _shattered_.

Because Steve was _dead_.

 _Bucky_ was dead.

And Becca?

Becca was down from four siblings to two in less than a day. 

Nothing could describe what that moment had felt like. Nor the moments thereafter. The moment she’d told her mother that her only son – her baby boy – was dead, their Steve along with him. The moment she’d seen her little sisters learn that the only two men they’d ever loved were gone.

Becca had been numb to it all, her pain crushed deep inside her where even she couldn’t feel it. Because she couldn’t… couldn’t accept it. Couldn’t believe it. It just seemed so impossible, that these men, these invincible men, were just _gone_. 

And so, as the weeks passed and the funerals were planned, Becca barely felt it. Was barely aware of it. Even the knowledge that they had no bodies to bury wasn’t enough to shock her out of her haze.

God, even the _funerals_ themselves weren’t enough for that, the sight of her little sisters sobbing while holding their mother’s hands seeming dreamlike.

It wasn’t until the wake that everything came crashing in. Because there were tears then too, but also laughter and stories and _reality_. The Howling Commandos made an appearance, a show of support that made her mother smile while shedding tears. Becca also noted distantly that they took extra care with her little sisters and her ma. Gabe Jones stayed close to Lily throughout the day, seeming to understand her quiet nature. Dum Dum Dugan, in the meantime, made it his mission to get little Annie to laugh at his ridiculousness. The last three – Morita, Falsworth and Dernier – surrounded her tiny mother, a veritable wall of protection.

They tried to comfort Becca too, tried to pull her into their little circle of warmth and support. But Becca wouldn’t have it. She was cold to it all. (Because they _weren’t gone, they weren’t, they weren’t._ She couldn’t accept it. It wasn’t real.)

The crash of reality came when her brothers’ squad began telling stories; little anecdotes about what it was really like to be led by the legendary Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes. Becca saw how her mother appreciated them, how her sisters grinned through their tears… and it felt like suffocation, like a weight breaking her chest and forcing the air out of her lungs.

She couldn’t take it. Couldn’t take _any_ of it. Why should there be laughter when Bucky and Steve were _dead_?

_Why are they dead at all?_

So Becca did the only thing she could: she got the hell out of there. She ran until she couldn’t run anymore and then found the seediest bar she could and used it as shelter. She went up to the barman – an older gentleman with a rough look about him – and told him to give her the rest of whatever open bottle of strong whiskey he had. Something in Becca’s eyes caused him to pass it over without comment.

Becca dropped into a chair at an empty table in the corner and took a long swig of her whiskey. It burned her throat unpleasantly, and smelled all too much like her father, but Becca took another swig anyway. And then one more. She sat there then, stone silent, until finally it was a couple hours later and someone approached her at her table, all clad in black. 

Becca looked up to find Agent Carter staring down at her, regal and strong even in mourning. She’d been a silent pillar at the funeral, perfectly coifed and straight-faced. Respectful, if distant. 

Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter. A soldier in her own right. Captain America’s ladylove, if the newsreels were to be believed. And Becca suspected there had been some partial truth to it – after all, her idiot brother had decided to stop what was between him and Steve. Becca had railed at Bucky when he told her about his plan in a rare moment alone, just days before he shipped out. But Bucky had been adamant –it wasn’t safe anymore, he told her. It wasn’t fair to Steve, it wouldn’t let them live full lives. Becca had called bullshit, but still he persisted. So she had caved, nodded at him. There had been some truth in what he was saying, no matter how heartbreaking; the world just wasn’t nearly as accepting as her and her sisters. 

(A part of her had still hoped – foolishly – that Bucky would come back from war with Steve by his side like always. But that wasn’t to be.)

Becca wanted to hate Peggy Carter, this woman who had turned Steve’s head despite his ever-burning love for Bucky. But instead she just felt that same cold emptiness that had haunted her every movement these past weeks.

“Can I sit?” Peggy asked now, raising one perfect brow at her. 

“Free country,” Becca replied, sounding utterly exhausted. She hardly cared who decided to sit with her in this misery.

Peggy slowly settled in the seat across from her, giving Becca a long, considering look, before she finally spoke. “He told me a lot about you and your sisters, you know,” she said, voice softer than Becca would have expected.

She didn’t need to specify which _he_ for Becca to understand whom she was talking about. “We grew up with him.”

Peggy’s dark eyes pierced her, astute in a way few were. “He was your family.”

“Yes. He was.” _Good ol’ Steve Rogers with his stupidly big heart that always got him into trouble_. Becca took another swig from the bottle in her hands, letting the burn of it comfort her in a dangerous way, wanting the way it made everything fuzzy.

Peggy reached out a hand. “May I?”

Bottle swinging from her fingers, Becca considered for a long moment. Finally, she just shrugged, passing the thing over.

Agent Carter took a long sip, downing the alcohol like it was nothing. (Becca was sure they made quite a sight – two young women drinking hard liquor straight from the bottle in a room full of men twice their age.)

“Whiskey,” Peggy said when she put the bottle back down. “You have the same taste as your brother. But even Sergeant Barnes usually drank from a glass.”

Becca just shrugged again. “Did you know him well?”

“Well enough. Your brother was a good man, though he certainly liked to hide it under that roguish charm of his.”

“Roguish charm,” Becca snorted, amused. “He would have liked that.” _Oh, Bucky_.

(God, what was Becca supposed to do without him? He’d been her confidant her entire life. Her _best friend_. What was Becca supposed to do now? What the fuck was she supposed to _do_?) 

“Yes, I suppose he would have,” Peggy replied, watching her carefully.

Becca suddenly decided she had enough of this conversation; she forcibly swallowed down the emotion that threatened to choke her, before pinning Peggy with a shrewd look of her own. “No offense, Agent Carter, but why are you here? I wasn’t exactly lookin’ for company.”

“I brought something for you. It was found in Sergeant Barnes’ personal effects – I thought you and your family might want it.”

“You could have just had it delivered–” Becca started to stay, before her voice lost all its power as she finally realized just what Peggy was handing her. 

It was a simple piece of paper; it really shouldn’t have brought Becca to a stop like it did, shouldn’t have sent her mind roaring. But it wasn’t the paper that mattered, it was what was drawn on it.

Because it was _the picture._ The picture of her and Lily and Annie with big Steve at Coney Island; or at least a charcoal copy of the one she had sitting on her night table at home, painstakingly drawn from memory.

Becca stared at it for a long, _long_ time. Stared at the way her and her sister’s faces were so _detailed_ , whereas Steve’s seemed to be drawn almost as an afterthought. Stared at the smiles they all wore, at the way they all clutched at each other a little tighter than in the actual photo Becca owned. Stared at the small signature in the bottom corner. _S. Rogers_.

She also stared at the slight smudges of fingerprints in the charcoal; as if someone – as if _Bucky,_ who Steve had undoubtedly given this picture to – had traced over their figures over and over again to remind himself of home. 

It felt as if her chest had been ripped open then, all the emotion she’d been crushing there suddenly tearing out all at one. But still, she kept it inside as much as she was able.

Becca’s voice came out in a weak croak, tears thick in her throat. “That was the only time we ever saw him like that. It was such a shock that I thought I was dreaming.”

Peggy stayed silent, watching her patiently. Her gaze was inscrutable.

“Part of me always knew we would lose Steve early, he was always so sick,” Becca continued. “But when he turned up all healthy, I thought maybe they’d _both_ make it. Instead… Instead, I lost them both,” she barked out a bitter laugh at that. “What kind of cruel twist of fate is that?” 

“I don’t know. It seemed to me that Steve and your brother would have followed each other to the ends of the earth. Perhaps... perhaps this is how it was always going to be,” Peggy suggested, sad acceptance written all over her.

“Those _idiots_.” 

This time it was Peggy who let out a little laugh. “Oh, I know.”

Becca supposed she did.

She looked back down at the picture then, focusing in particular on the thumbprint that remained by Steve’s face. “Bucky... Bucky had this?” she found herself checking, fitting her own thumb in the place her brother had lingered.

Peggy nodded. “He looked at it often, after Steve gave it to him. But he never took it with him, didn’t want to risk it. He loved you all, anyone could see it.”

It was those words that caused a true break in the dam in Becca. Tears fell from her eyes freely – for the first time since she’d heard the news. God _damn_ it – how could he have left her behind?

She loved Bucky. She loved him so _goddamned much_. Steve too.

Becca choked on a sob when a she felt a hand over hers, perfectly manicured fingers gentle as they squeezed hers.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. Truly,” Peggy said and, for the first time, Becca saw the sheer _wealth_ of emotion in the other woman’s eyes, the utter grief in her. And it felt like camaraderie between them, a connection formed by mutual agony. Their pain might be different, but it was still just that: _pain_. It was still loss.

They had both been left behind, both had to stay in this suffering while men they loved went somewhere where they couldn’t follow.

Becca wondered if anyone had thought to hold a hand out to Peggy like Peggy was doing for her now. Becca wondered if anyone even remotely understood what kind of pain the other woman was in. 

She found herself squeezing Peggy’s hand back. “I’m sorry for _yours_ ,” Becca said quietly, genuinely. 

Peggy nodded her acknowledgement, before looking away, the lines around her mouth tight. A single tear slipped from her cheek, which she wiped away gently with her free hand, the movement as efficient as all her others. But Peggy Carter was more than just another wartime legend, Becca was starting to realize. She was as human as the rest of them. She began to understand just what Steve had seen in this woman.

Peggy squeezed her hand once more and let go. Then, as if making an important decision on the fly, she took a small notebook from her purse, scribbled something on it and tore it out to give to Becca.

It was an address. Becca looked at Peggy quizzically.

Peggy gestured back to the torn paper. “If you or your sisters ever need help, that is where you can find me,” she explained, offering Becca and her family an unexpected kindness.

Becca could only nod her thanks, pocketing the paper carefully.

With that done, Peggy finally stood from her seat. She put her bag back over her shoulder and wrapped her coat tighter around herself, readying herself to go. But she hesitated before she moved away completely; a move that Becca _knew_ was uncharacteristic for the indomitable Agent Carter. So she found herself paying full attention to whatever she was going to say next.

“Steve once told me you were even more of a fighter than him,” Peggy said. “Is that still true?” 

“I... I don’t know,” Becca admitted, frowning. She didn’t know much of anything anymore.

Peggy nodded as if she had expected that. “Well, if want to find out, I might have a job opportunity for you. We could always use more women fighting to keep this freedom your brothers laid down their lives for. Just… consider it. If you want.”

And with that, Peggy Carter swept out of the room, offering her only another slight nod as a goodbye.

Becca stared at her half-drunken bottle of whiskey for a long time after that, considering. And then she pushed it away from her; she couldn’t let alcohol become a cruel crutch like it had for her father.

So she fought against the temptation to drink and forget and instead looked back at the drawing she held in her hands.

Steve had drawn this. Bucky had kept it with him. 

She couldn’t believe they were gone. Couldn’t believe they were really dead.

But… but they were. And Becca… she couldn’t hide from it anymore. She couldn’t hide from _any_ of it.

Becca _ached_ with the pain of it, the truth of it. But finally she felt it, a torment inside her she could no longer deny. Her vision blurred again, tears ready to fall.

She couldn’t be here anymore, in this seedy place with this stupid bottle. So for the second time that day, she ran; but this time, she ran home.

To the family she had left.

Becca burst through the door of their apartment in the wee hours of the morning, utterly disheveled and distraught. She found her mother sitting alone by soft lamplight, presumably waiting for her while her sisters were already asleep.

Her mother looked up at her now, dark circles under her eyes. Winnie Barnes looked like she’d aged ten years in the last two weeks, her grief so great. But still, she kept herself standing for her daughters. Just like Becca had been trying to keep herself together in any way she could for the girls.

But she couldn’t... she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t block it all off.

Tears choked out of her, overwhelming. Her mind a fog of pain and confusion and Lord, _it wasn’t fair._

Why were they dead? Why? Why did they have to go?

“They’re gone, Mama,” Becca finally gasped, in near hysterics. “They’re _really_ gone.”

Her mother immediately stood, reaching for her eldest daughter.

Her eldest _child_ now.

“Oh, sweetheart. I know,” Winnie whispered, voice thick with her own tears. She pulled Becca to her tightly, making soothing noises.

 _I can’t take this,_ Becca couldn’t help but think as she buried her wet face in her mother’s shoulder, body shaking with the force of her sobs.

_I can’t do it. I can’t. Please God, make it stop._

_Make it stop._

_Please._

“I– I can’t. _Please_. Mama, please,” she sobbed. 

But Becca’s begging did nothing. Pain was like any other human emotion; you could only push it back for so long before it came back tenfold. And Lord in Heaven it was _agony_.

Winnie ran a hand through her hair, rocking her back and forth like she was still a baby. “Shh, now, I have you, my beautiful girl. I have you.”

A thousand memories flashed through Becca’s head; happy and sad and everything in between. Bucky pulling her hair and making her cry, only to spend the rest of the day apologizing and trying to make her laugh. Steve trampling all over her toes the one time she’d tried to teach him how to dance. Bucky stepping in front of their father’s fist for the hundredth time with a reckless smile on his face. Steve holding her hand after her first heartbreak. The two of them together, wearing secret smiles as they stole looks at one another in the safety of their old apartment.

Bucky. Steve. Bucky and Steve.

Becca, of her sisters, had known them longest. They’d been her constant companions in life. And now they weren’t anymore.

So she stood there in her mother’s familiar embrace and _cried_. She cried and cried and cried until there weren’t any more tears to spare and her throat felt utterly raw from it. She cried until she was spent.

And then, the next day, when the tears had dried, she stood back up and kept her pain with her, let herself feel it. Day in and day out. Until it got a little bit more bearable.

Finally, months later, she went to the address on the paper that Agent Carter had given her. She walked in, head held high, ready for what was coming. 

 _Time to fight back_ , she thought.

 

* * *

  

**~ _1953_ ~**

Lillian was twenty-three years old and she was being interviewed about her brothers; it wasn’t the first interview the family had done, there had been slews of them ever since the war ended. But it _was_ the first Lily had agreed to do alone, as Becca and Ma normally took the lead in these things.

But Lily had thought it might make this year’s VE Day more bearable, to see a little of the real Bucky and Steve in the papers and not just the masks they wore. After all, the piece she’d been asked to contribute to was ostensibly about the real faces of famous wartime heroes; and there really were no heroes more famous than Captain America and his Howling Commandos. She’d thought that talking about Bucky and Steve as _she_ knew them might bring them back to life in some small way. She’d thought the interviewer would be kind and patient with her, understanding of her difficulty with talking about this. 

It didn’t happen that way though. Not at all.

Barely five minutes in and Lily knew the interview wasn’t going well at all. Lily’s entire body was practically vibrating with the stress of it; she was aware she was a poor socializer, that it took her a little longer to open up than most. Lily lived her life in the safety of books and numbers and academia; humans were _difficult_.

But this man, this interviewer, was even more difficult than most. David Wallis was arrogant, for a start, and clearly cared little for Lily’s comfort, not even letting her settle at all before shooting off one shallow question after another. The questions were so fast that he barely gave her a chance to answer them and he got increasingly annoyed at her when the answers that she _did_ give weren’t the ones he wanted.

Clearly Mr. Wallis wanted something funny, something light, something goddamned patriotic. But Lily couldn’t give him that. She wasn’t Becca, who was so like Bucky with her undeniable charisma, and she wasn’t Ma, who had gravitas and an air of respectability.

No, Lily was an awkward young woman, always uncomfortable in her own skin. She wore big sweaters and loose skirts that she could hide in and never turned heads her way. She hated confrontation, hated making a fuss.

This interview was a stretch for her; she’d had to talk herself into it for weeks before deciding to go through with it. And now, _this_.

She could cry. Honest to God. 

But she didn’t. Instead she just sat there and let this man berate her when she was too quiet for him to hear. Even his assistant – a handsome young man with dark skin and smiling eyes – looked increasingly uncomfortable, shooting his boss dirty looks and her sympathetic ones whenever he could get away with it. 

She only found the strength to say something back when the questioning turned _vile_ though. Lily would swallow pretty much any dig at her, but insult her family and she was guaranteed to snap.

“I don’t even know why we’re talking to you, not like your brother did much good for the war effort, only looked pretty for the reels,” Mr. Wallis had muttered derisively under his breath after she yet again didn’t answer the question like he wanted.

Lily, for all her shyness, saw red. She surged to her feet, heart beating fast with her anger.

 _How dare he say that? How_ dare _he? Bucky_ and _Steve were heroes. They both were. Both of them._

She remembered then, what Bucky would say to her when something Becca said made her cry. _You don’t gotta do much, Lily darlin’, but you sometimes you gotta stand up for yourself and what you believe in. Don’t let nobody tell you otherwise._  

It pained her to think of those words, but also gave her enough strength to stop her voice from trembling as she finally spoke.

“I’ll have you know that my brother, Sergeant Barnes, _died_ for his country,” she began, trying to calm her pounding heart. “Without him and Captain Rogers and their team, the world as we know it wouldn’t exist. So why don’t you think about _that_ , when you sit here with your cushy job and your cushy life? Why don’t you have a little goddamned respect for the men that laid down their lives so that _you_ , Mr. Wallis, could be _here_ asking me stupid questions?”

David Wallis gaped up at her, gob smacked, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Behind him, his assistant was suppressing a grin, his smiling eyes lit with mirth.

Lily channeled Becca and her ma. She channeled Bucky. She channeled Steve and his reckless stubbornness. She wore their strength like armor.

“You can be sure I’ll be having a talk with your paper. It might not mean much to _you_ , but the Barnes name carries some weight over there. Did you know that your supervisor was one of the men from the 107th saved by Captain Rogers?” Lily had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Wallis pale. Lily might not be the most social being, but she _always_ did her research.

“I thought not,” she continued, voice still strong despite feeling like she was about to collapse from the stress at any second. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be going. This so-called ‘interview’ is over.”

And then she did just that, grabbing her bag and storming out on shaky knees. She was tempted to break as soon as she was out of the room but knew she needed to be further away, the panic in her chest crushing.

 _Keep it together, Lily_ , she thought, _just a little longer_.

Lily’s bravery lasted until she got out of the building, tears escaping the corners of her eyes even as she searched for somewhere to hide. She managed to make it into a small alley around the corner before they really started falling.

Lily’s breath was coming fast, like it was punching out of her. She slid slowly to the ground, leaning against a filthy wall. She buried her head in her knees and tried to calm down, counting in her head and, when that didn’t work, tried to figure out this new equation that was giving her trouble.

But math wasn’t her solace today, her thoughts plagued with constant whispers about what a failure she was.

She couldn’t even get this one thing right. Yeah, the interviewer was a prick, but she was sure Becca and Ma would have handled it much earlier, would have made him show some respect from the minute they walked into the room. Even little Annie, just fifteen, would have done better, with her confidence.

It was times like this that Lily ached for one Steven Grant Rogers. Bucky had been the best brother any of them could have asked for, but Steve... Steve had been a constant friend to her. He’s never minded her quietness, often just sat drawing by her side while she was stuck in her head, computing numbers and generally not having the energy to talk. But when she finally did want to talk, he’d listen patiently, give her the kind of advice that suited her personality. He never expected her to suddenly be like her siblings, loud and witty. He just wanted Lily to be Lily.

“You’ll get far, Lily darlin’, just you wait,” he used to tell her, blue, blue eyes shining with belief.

She missed him. She missed him so much. And Bucky, who had exuded love and laughter… who wiped her tears away.

She missed being called Lily darlin’. Darling Lily. 

Lily choked on a sob.

“You all right, Miss Barnes?” A deep voice suddenly asked, startling her. 

Lily wiped furiously at her eyes, trying in vain to seem like she wasn’t falling apart. She peeked up to see Mr. Wallis’ assistant staring at her with concerned eyes.

Lily was immediately embarrassed, cheeks flushing red. She was sure she seemed like a pathetic little girl, crying in corner because a man was mean to her.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Lily finally replied, voice trembling. “Thank you, Mr…?” 

He grinned; it lit up his entire face, made him all the more handsome, Lily thought. There was something tight in her stomach at the sight of it. 

“Curtis Lawrence,” he introduced himself, taking the hat from his head politely. 

Lily, always well-mannered even with her shyness, offered him a hand. He shook it with all gentleness, palm warm against hers. Lily pulled back quickly. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Lawrence,” she said.

“You too, Miss Barnes,” Curtis said, still smiling, though it turned a little sad. “Can’t say I like seein’ a pretty girl like you cry though.”

Lily’s cheeks immediately burned, likely a flaming red. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with a comment like that, though it certainly made her heart ache with something other than panic and grief. She was still fumbling for an answer when his grin softened.

“Can I?” He gestured to the empty spot next to her. 

After a hesitant moment, she nodded, not quite sure what else to do. And… she didn’t want to be alone. So Lily watched as he slid to the floor next to her, resting his arms on his raised knees. Tears were still falling from her eyes and she tried to surreptitiously rub them away under her glasses, sniffling a bit.

“Sorry,” she whispered, still embarrassed. Here she was, crying in front of a complete stranger. But Curtis only offered her a handkerchief, still wearing that soft smile. 

“You don’t gotta apologize,” he told her as she tried to clean the tears from her eyes. “It’s him that’s done the wrong. I’m just sorry I didn’t step in… I woulda, but I really need this job. Ain’t much choice for a man like me in this business,” he finished, gesturing at himself – or more specifically, his skin – sardonically.

Lily frowned. She hated that men like Curtis and Gabe Jones and Jim Morita were considered lesser because they were a different color. She knew a little what it was like, being the only woman in the entire mathematics department at her university, and being unmarried to boot. But she also knew she would never have it as bad as these men. 

She thanked God that Bucky and Steve had taught Lily and her sisters acceptance. That her mother echoed that message, in that dignified, quiet way of hers. She didn’t want to be another one of the ignorant, of the cruel. She didn’t want to be like her father or David Wallis.

“I’m sorry,” she said, really meaning it.

But Curtis shook his head at her, deep brown eyes watching her with something like fondness. “There you go apologizing again! None of this is _your_ fault. ‘Sides you done me a good today – I’ve been wantin’ to tell him off for _months_. I’m just happy I was here to see his face.”

Lily laughed through her tears, surprised at it.

“That’s better,” Curtis enthused, matching her grin. “Been wondering what your smile looks like… even better than I expected.”

And Lily? Lily’s face _burned_ , her lips still upturned. She ducked her head, playing with the sleeves of her sweater. What was she was supposed to say? What was she supposed to do? She wanted to return the compliment somehow, tell him he was one of the handsome men she’d ever laid eyes on, but the mere thought of doing that made her heart pound with nervousness. 

Luckily, Curtis didn’t seem to mind her silence, instead scanning their surroundings. “What do you say we get off this dirty floor, huh? These are my only good pants and I’m staining ‘em.” 

Lily nodded at that, relieved. She made to stand, only to stumble, suddenly lightheaded. Curtis caught her by the elbows and kept her upright, fingers almost hesitant in their touch; the first time she’d witnessed any tentativeness from him. 

“Woah, all right there?” he asked, watching her with worried eyes.

Lily felt the rising embarrassment as she pulled back from him. “Sorry, I just forgot to eat lunch. And breakfast.” 

Curtis’ eyes rose comically. “Forgot?”

“I had, um, research to do.” Her funding had finally come through and she had to make as much use of her paid time as she possibly could; besides, she was so _close_ , she could just feel it. 

“Research?”

Lily hesitated; very few people cared about what she did and, if they did, it was often because they disagreed with a young woman like her pursuing further study and wanted to tell her what a shame it was that she wasn’t getting married and having babies. Still, she wouldn't lie.

“I’m a mathematical fellow at NYU,” she finally admitted, tugging at the ends of her sleeves nervously.

She needn’t have worried though, because Curtis grinned again, looking impressed. “Wow, you gotta be the smartest person I’ve ever met then,” he told her, all sincerity.

“I– I don’t know about that.” Lily _was_ sure her blush was becoming permanent, however. 

Curtis was adamant. “Well, I think so.”

“Thank you,” she finally replied, quietly pleased.

“What’s your research on?”

“It’s, um, a bit dry.” Numbers were, to most people. It made Lily infinitely sad. 

But Curtis just leaned against the wall, made himself comfortable, still wearing that distracting smile. “I’d still like to hear about it.”

Lily considered for a long moment. Normally, she would have run off by now, made up some excuse to get away from talking to a relative stranger. But there was something about Curtis that made her feel oddly comfortable. And she’d already been brave once today, so what was one more time?

So she told him, rambled on about it in a way that she hadn’t even done with her sisters. But Curtis seemed to really be listening, nodding and asking questions. Lily kept talking her, lighting up with excitement, making him smile at her for it. She didn’t even notice when her glasses slipped down her nose for the hundredth time; but he did, reaching out to push them back up gently. 

It made Lily stutter to a stop, stare up at him wide-eyed. She felt suddenly warm all over, didn’t know what she should do now.

Luckily, Curtis acted like nothing happened. “You were talking about algorithms?”

“Right, well...”

Lily continued to tell him, but that little moment made her lose her rhythm, made the comfortable air tense with something Lily had never felt before. She also just noticed how close they’d gotten to each other while she’d been rambling on.

“Sorry, you don’t have to listen to all this,” she said after another few minutes.

Curtis shook his head a little, keeping his eyes locked on hers. “I gotta tell you, Miss Barnes, I enjoyed learning about you more than I enjoyed hearing about your brother. No offense meant,” he scrambled to clarify, for once looking a little embarrassed himself. 

It made Lily want to smile, her heart beating a little faster. “No, none taken, Mr. Lawrence.”

“Curtis. My friends call me Curtis.”

“Curtis,” Lily tested, before giving into temptation and grinning up at him happily. She rarely made friends and she really liked Curtis, with his kind eyes and his big smile.

He stared at her for a long moment, a little awed she would have said were he directing that look at one of her sisters. But it was only Lily here; still, it made her blush come back tenfold.

“Damn, I gotta go,” Curtis said suddenly, having cast a quick glance at his watch. “What do you say we continue this conversation another time? Do you want to meet me again? Say Friday night at the Stork club? Seven o’clock? They’ll be good to us there,” he gestured to the difference in their skin tones, dark and pale. 

Despite her earlier excitement, Lily hesitated. Not because he was different from her, but because she’d never done this before. Whatever _this_ was. The sudden, unexpected pressure of it made her want go back into hiding.

Curtis seemed to feel that from her, softening his voice. “You don’t gotta decide now. You don’t even have to come, if you don’t wanna. I’ll be waiting either way.” Then, looking a little hopeful, a little _daring_ , he reached out to tuck some of her loose hair behind her ear, lingering on her cheek for the briefest of moments. He dropped his hand, put his hat back on his head.

“I hope this ain’t goodbye, Miss Barnes,” Curtis said, giving her a little nod before heading off, hands in his pockets, whistling under his breath. 

Lily blinked as she watched him walk away. A sudden urge struck her. “Lily,” she called out to him. He stopped and turned back to look at her, head slightly tilted. “Call me Lily,” she finished. 

Curtis grinned at her. “Lily,” he repeated back, just like she had done earlier with his name. He tilted his hat at her jauntily, making her laugh. “See you soon, Lily Barnes!”

And with that, he was gone. But Lily was still smiling. She went home feeling light; a miracle considering the awfulness of the interview.

She ended up taking Curtis up on his offer, despite the nerves that filled her at the mere thought. But then she’d think of her sisters and her mother, who were so brave. And she’d think of Bucky and Steve’s undying belief in her. 

So, when Friday came, she went to the Stork Club. And Curtis was there waiting for her, just like he’d promised.

 

* * *

 

**~ _1960_ ~**

 

Annie was twenty-five and she was in the biggest trouble of her life. The kind of trouble that would have made her grandparents never want to speak to her again. The kind of trouble that she was sure her father, wherever he was, would disdain her for. The kind of trouble she was sure Ma would be disappointed in her for.

Annie stared down at her stomach; relatively flat for the moment, though she knew that wouldn’t last for much longer. 

 _Pregnant_. 

Pregnant and no husband to speak of. No boyfriend even. Not anymore.

God, her mother had told her not to go off on her own, not to leave their family – that it would only lead to trouble.

But Annie had always been a free spirit and leaving the apartment she’s shared with her mother for eighteen years had only made her more so. She’d spent the past seven years finding her own way. She didn’t go to school like Lily did or settle down like Becca did.

No, she travelled, found jobs where she could, and if she couldn’t, talked her way into staying under someone’s roof. Many women (and men) gave her dirty looks, disapproving of her sort. _Free-thinkers_ , they’d shake their heads. 

Most recently, she’d found her way to DC, found work in a cafe that all the fancy politicians frequented. She got lots of looks from the men in their three-piece suits; it was a rarity for them to have a girl at their beck-and-call without a ring on her finger.

They’d proposition her sometimes; these married men. Annie would never give in. She could find her own company, thank you very much. (There were plenty of seedy bars and clubs, with plenty of unattached men; she was sure her mother would be ashamed of seeing her in these kinds of places, but Annie hardly cared. Life was too short to always worry about what everyone else thought. Her big brother had known that; Steve too. They’d lived the best life they could together, though Annie only learned about the true nature of their relationship many years after their deaths, when Lily had let it slip.) 

Yet even with Annie’s strong personality and ability to say no... even with that, one of these powerful men managed to break down her barriers and get her to say yes.

Thomas had seemed sweet, see, especially for a junior politician. He hadn’t seemed to be filled with ambition the way so many of the others were, didn’t seem to need to prove anything to anyone. That spoke to Annie, spoke to her soul.

And, more importantly, he didn’t have a ring on his finger. 

Their love affair was fiery thing, all passionate lovemaking and the constant need to live in each other’s skin. But it was also full of soft moments. A connection of hearts. Thomas told her things he’d never told anyone else, his deepest thoughts and fears. 

Annie had fancied herself in love with him. 

Until, the day she figured out there was another life growing in her. _Pregnant_. God, no word had ever terrified her quite so much.

But Annie managed to pull up some of that famous Barnes strength and kept it together. And she had Thomas. Sweet Thomas who gave her the kindest kisses and was sure to help her. When she went to tell him, she was nervous of course, but she never expected the reaction she got. Because Thomas’ face had twisted in anger and he’d demanded she get rid of it. It wasn’t a part of his plans, he told her. 

Wasn’t a part of his plans with his _fiancé_ – this fiancé he’d been hiding the entire time.

She’d learned later that this other woman he would marry was supposed to help his political career. That Thomas had fully expected to keep Annie as a mistress. 

But not with a baby. 

So he said she had to get rid of it.

But Annie said no. This baby wasn’t planned but she sure as _Hell_ wasn’t going to get rid of it, not for this asshole. Because under all the fear about her pregnancy was the beginnings of love. Annie had never thought of herself as mother material (not like her sisters and her own ma) but she was willing to give it a shot for this life growing inside her. Besides it was _her_ choice if she wanted to keep it; no one else’s. 

Thomas had responded with horrible, vile things. (‘What did you think? That I would marry some nothing who whores herself out? That I would want to keep my slut’s baby?’)

When she yelled at him for it, cursed him out, he cracked her across the face with an open hand. And Annie... well Annie had promised herself she would never let another man hit her ever again, not after George Barnes had lifted his hand to her and her big brothers had stepped between them. 

So Annie punched him in the face. Broke his nice, straight nose. _How’s that for political gain_ , she’d thought triumphantly.

And then she’d walked off without another word. (Although she wasn’t sure what Bucky would think of her now if the world had been just and let him live, she _was_ sure he’d be proud of that punch. Steve Rogers might have gotten into fights left and right, but it was Bucky Barnes who taught him how to throw a proper punch. Just like how he taught five-year-old Annie to do the same. She would never forget how.)

And now she was going back home, back to Brooklyn, to live there for the first time since she’d left. (She’d been back a few times for holidays and birthdays, but otherwise had avoided her childhood home. Even Annie wasn’t sure why.)

Annie thought a long time about who she was going to see first, but there was no choice really, in the end. It was Becca. 

Becca was the one she needed on her side. Lily would already be there, Annie knew; she’d always had a soft spot where Annie was concerned and was Annie’s most frequent call home. Lily and her’s bond was unbreakable, her wonderful, quiet sister who’s love was rare but always unconditional.

Becca, on the other hand. Well, their relationship had been rocky at times. Becca had taken her role as the eldest seriously, ever since it was thrust upon her after Bucky’s death. She took good care of her and Lily when they were young, even watched after Ma. But she’d become less a sister to Annie and more a second mother. 

It made it difficult, because Annie only ever seemed to earn Becca’s disappointment. Becca loved her, of course, but she hardly understood her.

So, Annie had to see her first, had to get the hard stuff out of the way. And maybe, just maybe, if Becca forgave her she would help Annie tell Ma. (God, _Ma_. Annie was so afraid. She didn’t want her ma to look down on her for this.)

But first she had to get past Becca. It was for that reason she wound up on her big sister’s doorstep one Sunday morning when she was sure her family would be out. Becca had stopped going to church a long time ago, but it brought her husband, Mike, comfort, so he tended to take their three kids any Sunday he had time. As much as Annie loved her brother-in-law and her nephews and niece, she also knew this was between her and Becca.

But, God. It would have been nice to pretend for a bit that this was just quick drop-in from Auntie Annie, who even the kids knew did what she wanted and when she wanted it. (They loved that about her, loved that they had a young aunt like her, ready to play with them whenever she came by.)

Annie barely kept it together when she rang the doorbell of Becca’s place, which was a mere twenty minutes from where their mother still lived in their childhood home. (Becca’s home was much nicer though; Mike and her both had steady jobs that Annie barely understood but that kept them comfortable.)

A minute or two later, the door opened and her sister was stood there, wearing a robe over her pajamas, hair up in a bun. Annie had no doubt she had been spending her time alone catching up on paperwork, coffee in hand. 

“Annie,” Becca said, sounding shocked. (A part of Annie was pleased by that; Becca Barnes-Proctor was _never_ taken by surprise.) 

“Not gonna let me in?” Annie asked when her sister just continued to stare at her.

Becca blinked her way out of her trance and immediately opened her door wider, gesturing at Annie to come in. “No, of course. Please.”

As soon as Annie was through the threshold, Becca gathered her up in a quick hug. Annie closed her eyes at it, feeling a bit like a child again when the near twelve-year age gap between them had been more obvious. Becca had always felt like home to her, so she let herself sink into the embrace a bit, before pulling away completely.

“It’s good to see you, Annie,” Becca said, smiling a little. She gestured for Annie to follow her.

Annie was quiet as Becca directed her to the sitting room, watching as her sister flitted about, trying to clear the heaps of papers and books that were sprawled everywhere. Eventually there was space enough to sit and Becca went to get coffee for them both.

“So, how have you been?” Annie asked when the silence became too much. She let her hands warm around the mug in her hands.

“Good. The kids too,” Becca replied, before turning completely to her, piercing her with her gaze. “Now, before you continue with the small talk, how’s about you tell me why you’re really here.”

 _Here we go_ , Annie thought. “Can’t I just visit my wonderful big sister?” she hedged.

Becca raised a brow. “You haven’t _just_ _visited_ in years. Come on, Annie. Just tell me.”

Annie hesitated for a long moment. God, she was so _stupid_. She’d come all this way planning to tell her and she didn’t even think about _how_ she was going to say it. _Why can’t I just_ think _?_

Maybe one of her sisters would have planned it better, given a little speech about the whole thing. But, in the end, Annie did what she always did. She acted on impulse.

“I– I’m pregnant,” she blurted, immediately wincing at her own bluntness.

Becca went completely still, no-nonsense expression shifting into something unreadable. It was the first time Annie ever wanted the no-nonsense expression back. “Pregnant,” she repeated.

“You know, with child,” Annie clarified, with a bit too much sass.

But it made Becca roll her eyes, which was at least familiar to Annie. “Yes, I know very well what pregnant means. I _have_ had three kids… How did this happen?”

Annie couldn’t help herself. “Well, see, when a man and a woman–”

“Annie, for Christ’s sake! Enough!” Becca snapped at her, suddenly all familiar fire again. “This isn’t the time to mess around – this is serious. Don’t you understand the kind of position you’re in? Don’t you understand what they’re going to _say_ about you now? You never goddamn think these things through.”

“I’m sorry, ok?” The words burst from somewhere deep inside her. Truth was, she was absolutely fucking _terrified_. She already felt like she didn’t know her place in life and _this_ wasn’t going to make it any easier. She knew that. She knew how hard it was going to be, knew she wasn’t nearly as capable as she liked to believe she was.

“I’m sorry I don’t have my life together like you,” Annie continued, shocked that tears were filling her eyes, “I’m sorry that I don’t have the perfect family and the perfect job. I didn’t mean for this to happen; I was careful, I swear I was.” 

Annie wrapped hers around herself tightly, covering where the baby was growing. Becca watched her silently, inscrutably. But she was listening. “I know I’ve always been the black sheep,” Annie admitted, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I know I’m the failure, but I didn’t mean for this to happen. But now that it has happened, I need your help. I can’t... I can’t do this alone.” 

Silence. And then Becca reached out to take one of Annie’s hands, shocking her. Annie blinked up to find her big sister watching her sadly.

“Annie, you’re not... you’re not a failure,” Becca told her softly, looking teary herself. “I’ve _never_ thought that, I promise you. It’s just… you’re my baby sister and I worry. I’m so sorry it comes off like disappointment. I could _never_ be disappointed in you. You’re one of the best women I know.”

The words were like a benediction, a weight off her shoulders. Annie felt them deep in her soul. She wasn’t sure how to express how much she’d needed to hear those words – and from Becca in particular, whose approval she’d always _craved_. So, instead of saying something, she scooted closer to Becca and leaned against her side, head on her shoulder and their hands still entwined.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Annie admitted, voice thick. “And I’m so, so scared.”

Becca kissed the side of Annie’s head. “I know, Annie-girl. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

“You’re not mad?” Annie asked, looking up at Becca.

“Mad? Nah. Worried, but not mad. You know me, my bark’s always worse than my bite.” Becca nudged Annie’s side playfully.

But Annie wasn’t smiling. “What about what people will think? What they’ll say?”

“Fuck ‘em,” Becca replied with utter decisiveness. “You’re a Barnes. We Barnes’ take care of our own.”

Annie was startled into a laugh. Becca grinned at her, looking eighteen again, not the thirty-six she was.

“And besides, you’re hardly the black sheep of the family. What _would_ the world think if they knew that Captain America and Sergeant Barnes were in an intimate relationship?” Becca said sarcastically. She shook her head in faux disappointment. “Scandalous, really.”

Annie played along, trying not to give in to the smile pulling at her lips. “One might even call it the scandal of the century.”

“That they might.”

It was quiet again, but this time it was a comfort, Annie glued to Becca’s side. She used to do this a lot when she was small, just cuddle against one of her sisters; or Bucky and Steve, when they’d still been with them.

“I wish... I wish I’d have known him better. Bucky,” Annie found herself saying. It was a sad irony that her memories of Steve were clearer than many of her memories of Bucky. She suspected it was because she’d seen more of Steve later in her childhood, when Bucky had already been fighting in Europe. After all, she’d last seen Bucky when she was five, only to lose him a couple years later.

She wondered what he’d be like now, had he lived. Would he still have joked around as much as he used to? God, he’d been in his forties now.

“I know,” Becca replied, before giving her hand a squeeze. “But hey, I’m sure that he would have loved you just as much now as he did eighteen years ago.”

“Has it really been that long?”

“Yeah,” Becca’s voice held unfathomable sadness. “I miss him, you know. And Steve. I miss them so much.”

This time it was Annie who comforted Becca, pulling her big sister into a sideways hug. “Me too, Becca.”

Becca leaned against her for a brief moment, before pulling back. She wiped whatever grief she was feeling from her face, giving Annie a determined look.

“Enough of this, we have things to take care of now. Tell me what happened.”

And Annie did. She told her everything, the good and the bad. The downright awful.

(“I’m gonna kill him, I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him, the fucker,” Becca had seethed when Annie told her about Thomas’ reaction.

“Language,” Annie had teased in return, though grateful for her sister’s support.

A roll of the eyes. “Oh, like you’re one to talk.”)

When it was done, Annie felt weak with relief. She didn’t realize how much she needed to let it out all out, didn’t realize how lonely she’d been without her sisters. How had she ever thought she could go without them?

Becca’s help was invaluable. In short order, she helped Annie figure out the next few steps, simple logistics that would get her going for this new chapter of her life. Like that she’d be staying with Becca and her family for a few days until they figured out something more permanent and planning her first proper doctor’s appointment.

There was the _big_ thing, of course. The reason Annie came here in the first place.

“You know what has to happen next though, right?” Becca asked after their phone call to the doctor that had helped her with her kids. “We have to go to Ma.”

“I know,” Annie groaned. She hid her head in her hands.

Becca rubbed her back. “Don’t worry. I’ll be with you every step of the way. 

And she was. But, in the end, Annie didn't need Becca with her at all. She really should have known better than to underestimate Winnie Barnes… because her mother didn’t yell or say she was disappointed. No, she only hugged Annie and reassured her, even through her own worry. She also said she could have her old room in the apartment back at any time she wanted.

Annie had never been more grateful for her family, for the strength of the two women who’d mothered her. She just hoped she could be half the mothers they were.

Well, she supposed she’d find out soon enough. _But don’t worry too much, baby_ , Annie thought, hand over her stomach, _we’ve all got you_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**~ _1963_ ~**

 

Bucky was forty-six years old and he no longer existed. Existing instead, rising from the wreckage of his mind, was the Soldier. All the Soldier knew was his mission. All he knew was his orders. His body has been remade to follow them; equipped with advanced weaponry that had been seared into his bones. And his mind knew nothing else; it became a database, run by directives and protocols and other machinery all slotted into place by various handlers over the years. He had no choice but to follow; it was all he was. Although he was capable of higher functioning, as some missions required, his base directives always remained the same.

 _The Soldier completes the mission_ , his mind repeated, over and over. (After all, this was the first directive, the most important.) It only calmed slightly when the Soldier _did_ complete the mission. He’d done as told; a single bullet had torn through his target’s head, spattering blood and brain matter onto his wife next to him, staining her pink dress red.

 _The Soldier leaves no witnesses_. He hadn’t; he hadn’t even been seen, hidden on a rooftop nearly a mile away. An impossible shot, most would assume. The local authorities wouldn’t even think to look past the scapegoat Hydra already had in place. After all, it _was_ an impossible shot. Just not for the Soldier. ( _The new fist of Hydra_ , a familiar but deeply unwanted voice echoed through his head. The Soldier shivered with feelings of revulsion before the thought finally passed.)

 _The Soldier returns to base._ He hadn’t, not yet. So the thought – the order, the command, the _directive_ – burned into his head, pulled at his mind incessantly. It was made worse by the fact that he’d been away from base for too long; it’d been nearly a week since the shot was made and while the world around him is still in chaos, the Soldier should have been able to complete the last directive.

And yet he hasn’t. And he doesn’t understand why. The internal tug to return was becoming painful, desperate. His mind screamed with it, screamed at him to follow protocol. He knew, somewhere deep inside him, that the longer he waited, the worse the pain would be. (He wasn’t foolish enough to believe there would be no pain at all; there was _always_ pain when he returned. This was a fact as old as the directives, as old as the weapon some called an arm. He was the Soldier, after all. Pain was his purpose.)

Yet, _still_ , he hasn’t gone back.

Because there were flashes, flashes and sounds and feelings that the Soldier knew weren’t supposed to be _his_ and yet they _were_. They appeared suddenly and without prompting, overriding his directives for the briefest of moments. Sometimes it was the feeling of a small hand in his; a child’s hand, trusting and sure. Other times, it was the sound of girlish laughter, utterly innocent, or the threads of old fairytales, ready to fall from his lips. It was the feeling of being teased and yet trusted. The unfamiliar urge to protect and care. The feeling of warmth that wasn’t just physical sensation, but something deeper inside. 

But most times, it was something else entirely. Something headier. He saw flashes of golden hair, softly glowing in the early morning sun. He felt a fluttering heartbeat underneath his palms, far too weak ( _God almighty it’s too weak, but please don’t take him from me, please don’t; take me instead, take me, take me_ –). He heard short gasps, the sound of a name from well-kissed lips. He remembered counting the ribs on a bony chest, before they were suddenly hidden by golden skin and hard muscle (he’d counted them even then, a part of him knew). He heard the sounds of fists against flesh and the stubborn words that nearly always followed ( _I had ‘em on the ropes, B–_ ). He remembered the sight of the bluest eyes staring up at him, dark with desire and then light with happiness and laughter and another thing the Soldier couldn’t quite identify. He remembered a lion’s heart that had started in body too small and ended in the body of a man whose big shoulders carried the world... the Soldier remembered feeling pride at that, and sadness, and that same need to protect, and a thousand other things. The Soldier felt it all.

He saw, he heard, he _tasted_. And the Soldier felt _want_. He wanted and he wanted and he _wanted_. The other-life was right there, in the corners of the machine of his mind. He wanted it _so fuckin’ bad_. 

Perhaps he could find more of these flashes, of this other-life that couldn’t be his. Just for a little while longer. Before the final directive was completed. Before he was brought to the Chair. The other-life held comfort and things unfamiliar and yet not. The Soldier didn’t understand. The Soldier _ached_ to understand.

So he stayed. Just for a little while longer.

It didn’t last. It never did. Days or hours or minutes later, masked men burst into his hidey-hole, batons at the ready. The Soldier went willingly. Quietly, even. 

_The Soldier returns to base._

Then, the Soldier sat in the Chair. The Soldier felt pain, his purpose, and it was white and hot and _agony_. The Soldier forgot. The world became dark and cold.

(And, when next he woke, his first thought was this: _the Soldier completes the mission._ So he did. He always did. Even while the innermost part of him screamed.)

 

* * *

  

**~ _1968_ ~**

 

Steve was fifty years old and all he felt, all he knew, was _cold_. It was in his skin, his muscles, his _bones_. It was in his mind. There were no thoughts outside of it, no dreams. It was all a simple nothingness; cold, cold, cold. Peaceful, but underwritten by unspeakable pain. 

(Because he _fell_ – no, he _dove_ , pointed his plane at the water because he had to save everyone and there was no one to tell him to save himself, not really. Peggy tried, bless her everlasting soul, but her voice hadn’t been enough, not with the shattered heart he carried in his chest. Not with half of him gone, _dead_ , fallen out of a moving train and into his own cold hell. 

It was a cruel symmetry really, that they both fell, that they were both encased by cold, but that they didn’t fall together. 

What Steve would have given, to make his final fall with Bucky. What Steve would have given, to have fallen in Bucky’s place. What Steve would have given, would _give_ , for Bucky.

But no, he fell – he dove – by himself. He fell, whole no longer, and faced the pain of the icy water alone. The freezing of his body had been agony, inescapable and encompassing. But the knowledge that his forever would be spent alone was worse. He would never be laid to rest beside his mother, as he always wanted.

He would never be laid to rest beside Bucky, whose body probably still lay broken at the bottom of a cliff.

_Bucky, Bucky, Bucky._

God, what he would give _._ )

Steve was fifty years old and his birthday passed in icy silence. So it goes. And he continued to wait. And wait and wait and wait.

 

* * *

 

**~ _1975_ ~**

 

Rebecca was forty-six years old and another war had ended. The war with Vietnam was finally over, all of their troops finally out of the country. The entirety of the US was celebrating. 

But Rebecca couldn’t. She was bitter it took so long. And angry – so _angry­_ – because she’d a lost a son to this war. Gene. Her Gene. 

Thank God for Mike. She knew lots of marriages didn’t last when a couple lost a child. Understandably so. There was, after all, no worse fate. But she was lucky with Mike. They’d both lost family to war, knew the grief of it. And when they lost Gene… well, it was sad to say the pain wasn’t unfamiliar.

The pain was different, of course. A thousand times worse. Because she’d loved Bucky and she’d loved Steve.

But Gene. Gene was her _son_. Her baby.

Nothing could compare to that loss. Nothing. 

Gene had been nineteen years old when he died. He’d been on the battlegrounds of Vietnam for a grand total of three weeks. His death had been one of thousands.

It broke Becca’s entire being, all that knowledge. It broke her in ways most people couldn’t even imagine. Because her baby, her little boy, had died for _nothing_. He’d died in the mud, bled out because of bullets, and for what? For _what_? 

It had been seven years since Becca got the call. Seven goddamn years. And still Becca would never, _never_ , forgive them for taking her boy from her. The fucking army and their fucking draft.

The army had taken three of the most important people in Becca’s life from her. The army had gotten them killed too young.

Mike had been her calm port in the storm these past years; Hell, their entire relationship. Michael Proctor went to war himself, once upon a time, and came back with one leg but twice as kind. He was a civil servant now, worked in government. Supported peace.

They’d been married nearly thirty years now. Had three beautiful children. Gene, their eldest who was taken from them far before his time. Henry, who had just gotten engaged himself. And Josephine, their only girl, who was thankfully more like her calm father than Becca herself.

Becca loved her family more than life itself, her kids and her husband. Her sisters and _their_ families, her nieces and nephew and her one brother-in-law, Curtis.

But she hated that they had all lost so much; that their family had been torn apart again and again by war.

She’d worked most her life as a SHIELD analyst – formerly the SSR – to try and keep peace. To put a stop to it all. And yet… with this war ending, she was beginning to realize that maybe her role hadn’t been for peace at all. Maybe all this hiding in the shadows was just making it worse.

But perhaps there was something good she could do now – something peaceful. This war was finished for them. Becca and her family had done their due for their country. Her time for fighting was over. She might never have been a field agent, but even analysts saw difficult things, _did_ difficult things. And she’d had enough of war and secrecy. 

So she called the director of SHIELD that very moment, sitting in her bedroom in the middle of the night, the news on in the background. But she knew her call wouldn’t go through to voicemail.

“I’m resigning,” Becca said as soon as Peggy picked up.

Peggy’s returning silence was telling. Eventually, she spoke up, in that vague way that was characteristic of _Director Carter_ and not her friend Peggy.

“I see,” the other woman said. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Peg,” Becca let out. “I should have left after Gene. SHIELD, the whole thing… it hasn’t felt right in years.” 

“I know,” came the voice over the phone, full of sympathy now. Peggy was one of Becca’s oldest friends; she’d known Gene since he was a boy as well, her own children had been friends with him. “But I’ll be sorry to see you go. SHIELD is changing… I fear there are very few people who I can trust anymore.” 

“You’ll still have Stark.” Though Becca had never really gotten along with Howard, she knew he and Peggy trusted each other implicitly. “Though maybe you should start thinking of stepping away soon; you’ve been at this for _so_ long, Peg. You could find a replacement, couldn’t you? What about that protégé of yours? Fury?” 

But Becca knew it would do no good. Director Margaret Carter lived and breathed for the service of this country and its allies; she’d continue to give to it until she physically couldn’t anymore.

“There’s still work to be done, I’m afraid. Especially now. But maybe one day,” Peggy returned, the final sentiment ringing out falsely.

Becca sighed but said nothing. 

“What are you going to do now?” Peggy asked after a while.

Becca couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. “I’m not sure. But isn’t that the beauty of it? I could do anything now.” 

“Yes, you could.”

Becca smiled to herself; she found it sad that so few people saw Peggy’s warmth nowadays, but was happy to still be counted amongst her most trusted confidants. It was that thought that gave her the strength to finally say what she was thinking might be her next calling in life.

“Mike and I were talking about starting a foundation for the boys who came home… and for the families of the ones who didn’t. For _all_ the victims of this war. I’ve worked so long for the fight… I think I want to work for peace now.”

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea, Becca. Truly,” Peggy replied, sounding _proud._

Becca’s smile widened. “Thanks, Peg.”

The hard part over, their phone call turned away from business, instead they just chatted like the friends they were. Peggy lived in DC, where SHIELD’s headquarters were, but Becca had stayed at the New York office, unwilling to move away from her childhood home. It had worked out for the betterment of their careers, with Peggy now acting as director and Becca becoming a top analyst in New York. Still, it meant they hardly saw each other anymore.

They spoke well into the early hours of the morning, until Peggy was pulled away by something important; the intelligence community never let her rest. And Becca knew there had been whisperings lately of a Soviet assassin they’d hoped was long dead but who, apparently, was very much alive. It left many of the upper level agents and analysts fraught with tension; after all, the Winter Soldier had been their very own ghost story since the 50s, a constant source of terror.

But that wasn’t for her to worry about anymore. Becca had her own job to do now. She let Peggy go with a simple goodbye. (She wasn’t to know that this was one of the last times her and Peggy would manage to have a call like this; didn’t realize that as the years went by, the visits would get less and less frequent until they stopped altogether. But that was how friendships were sometimes. They could drift away from you until you barely realized it had happened. But Becca Barnes-Proctor would always consider Peggy Carter a friend.) 

When her husband came back home from a business trip the following day, the first thing he did was give her a long hug; he knew how hard yesterday had been for her. The second thing he did was to follow her footsteps and quit his own job.

“Let’s make our boy proud,” Mike said to her, his sad smile surrounded by laugh lines.

Becca took his hand in hers, their palms fitting together as perfectly as they always had. “Let’s,” she agreed. _Let’s make them_ all _proud_.

Becca would go through most of her life never regretting that decision to restart her life. (Only once did she despair it. Only once. Because if she’d stayed with SHIELD she might have learned the identity of the Winter Solder sooner. But it wasn’t to be.)

 

* * *

 

**~ _1984_ ~**

Lillian turned fifty-four years old today. It was March 11th. Yesterday would have been Bucky’s birthday, if he had still been with them.

And – as Lily figured out weeks ago – today meant she’d lived to be twice the age Bucky was when he died. It was a cruel kind of the symmetry that the mathematician in her couldn’t help but note. 

She remembered when they’d been young how they would often celebrate their birthdays together; like twins, but separated by years. It used to make her so happy how Bucky never minded sharing his special day with her; and she didn’t mind sharing hers with him, either. Preferred it, actually. 

It used to be the one time of year where they would stick only together. Bucky, though she knew he loved her, tended to spend more time with Becca and Annie, who always needed more attention. And Steve would spend more time with Lily as a result, two peas in a pod.

But her birthday, _Bucky’s_ birthday… that was their special time. Sometimes they’d go to the pictures, just the two of them: a treat for becoming one year older. Like when they’d gone to see The Wizard of Oz on Lily’s ninth birthday, the day after Bucky had turned twenty-two. Lily remembered watching in wonder, sharing popcorn between them. She remembered giving Bucky his gift right after, wrapped perfectly in newspaper; it had been a book on space, something that she knew Bucky would love. He’d always thought he wasn’t as smart as he actually was, but Lily had known better, even then.

She remembered Bucky pulling her into his side with a ‘thanks, Lily darlin’. And she remembered how he’d shown the book off to Steve when they got back home, like it was some precious thing.

God, today was going to be hard. This supposedly special day. Lily found herself not even wanting to leave her bedroom this morning. It was a Sunday too, which meant there was no work forcing her out of bed. 

But she was sure her twins were downstairs with their father, waiting to start their family birthday traditions. Joseph and Judith Lawrence had all the charm of their dad and certainly all his determination. They were twenty-one now, both in college. She knew they weren’t always treated well there, being mixed race, but Lily was grateful they at least had each other. As a family, it hadn’t ever been easy for them – especially for her kids and Curtis – but the civil rights movements of the past decades had made it marginally easier on them.

Even so, Lily worried about them so much. They were her babies after all, though she was sure Judy wouldn’t like to be called that anymore. Joey, on the other hand, never minded; he was a true mama’s boy, that one. Lily loved it.

She really should get up and see them, these grown-up babies of hers. They’d come to visit specifically for her. But she couldn’t seem to make herself move, only managed to roll over to her other side, staring at Curtis’ empty side of the bed instead of the shuttered window.

A half-hour later and she was still there, lost in thoughts of her long-dead brother. But then Curtis came through the door, wearing that same grin she’d fallen in love all those years ago and carrying a tray. Breakfast in bed. It was a tradition he had started for his wife since her first birthday after their wedding. 

Lily managed a smile for him, her wonderful husband who had the patience of the saints her ma had always liked to preach about. Curtis knew her well though, better than any other person on the planet. He put the tray down on her bedside table, taking a seat next to where she was still laying. 

He ran a hand over her head, brow furrowed with concern. “Are you ok, sweetheart?”

“I’m fine,” Lily replied, voice rough. She leaned her forehead against his thigh for a moment, taking strength from him.

Curtis made a noise of disagreement. “It’s not easy for you today, is it?

Finally, she shook her head. (It was so stupid to be upset today; she knew that. Bucky had been gone for nearly forty years. It was so _dumb_ that she was so hung up on a simple number, on her new age. But she was. And she couldn’t crawl out of it. Not quite yet.)

(Sometimes the grief just _hit_ her. Such was the nature of it.)

Her husband leaned down to press a kiss to the side of her head. “I’m sorry,” he rumbled.

Lily turned her face away from his side, looking up at him. “It’s all right,” she mumbled. “I’ll be fine. I just… I need…”

Curtis nodded, cupping her cheek. “A minute alone.”

She nodded gratefully. She was so lucky to have found him, to _be_ with him. Their relationship had its difficulties, had come near to breaking more than once, but here they were. Lily couldn’t be more thankful for it. For his understanding. And for their kids. All three of them knew how Lily could be. They knew how difficult it was for her sometimes, how she couldn’t always just sit and talk and do the things other people could do so easily. They never held it against her.

“I’ll go down and distract everyone then,” he continued, tracing the edge of her jaw with his thumb. “Your sisters are here too; they wanted to surprise you. But I think it’s best you know what to expect before you come down.”

“Thank you,” she replied, turning her head to press a quick kiss to his palm. “I love you.”

“You do?” Curtis asked, grinning widely, eyes smiling. “Be still my heart, Miss Barnes. You do know how to flatter a fella.”

Lily actually laughed a little, her cheeks feeling warm as they always did when he said things like that. “Come on now, Mr. Lawrence. I did marry you.”

“Still nice to know,” he kissed her forehead once, then stood back up. “I love you too. I’ll leave you now, though. Eat your breakfast if you can, alright?” 

Lily hummed her assent, watched as he made his way back out of their bedroom. She could hear the faint sound of laughter downstairs, the familiar the voices of all her family.

Well, most of them. Bucky wasn’t there. Nor Steve. Nor Aunt Sarah. Nor her mother, who went in her sleep. Nor Gene, her sweet nephew who used to cling to her skirts.

Death was all too prevalent in the Barnes household.

Lily buried herself deeper into the covers. She missed them all. Had missed them for years. And when she began to think about it too much, she found it hard to stop, getting stuck in it. She knew how much Bucky used to worry about how easily she got stuck in her head, sometimes going days without talking but to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. 

He’d been a good brother. The _best_ brother. Practically raised her with her ma, especially after their dad left them. (And good riddance.)

Lord, she hadn’t thought of George Barnes in _years_. She’d never told her sisters, but she’d seen him once after he’d left them, way back in the forties. It had barely been a year since Bucky and Steve had been gone when she found a familiar, terrifying figure by Bucky’s tombstone. (A second tombstone was in Arlington, she knew, but the Barnes family wanted one for themselves, for _their_ Bucky… not for Sergeant Barnes.)

Lily hadn’t had the courage to get any closer – didn't even _want_ to – but she watched from afar as George stood over his son’s grave, mouth moving, saying things that Lily couldn’t hear. Lily had spent most of her childhood scared of the man who’d fathered her, scared he’d go too far one day. He’d always seemed larger than life, a figure straight from horror stories. But that day… that day he’d looked utterly defeated, his shoulders slumped, a recognizable bottle hanging from his fingers. 

Other women might have been tempted to go up to him, to forgive him for his sins. But there were _far_ too many of them for her to ever forgive. They’d deserved _better_ than him. _Bucky_ had deserved a father who didn’t hit him for the smallest slight.

His regret hadn’t mattered to her, not when he was still holding onto yet another bottle. Not when he would never have approved of Bucky and Steve; how they _really_ were.

So Lily hadn’t approached George Barnes. And when George had left, drinking from his oh-so-precious bottle, she’d only felt relief. She still wished him well, despite it all, hoped he’d found his peace. But she’d never looked for him. Never would.

For all she knew, he was just another dead family member. Lily wasn’t sure how to mourn him, if she even should. She supposed that even if she did, she’d be mourning the _idea_ of her father, rather than the reality.

Besides, there were other men in her life that had deserved that title more. Bucky, for one. It was one of the world’s biggest shames, she thought, that Bucky had never had a family of his own, that he’d never known that happiness. Perhaps it was a small comfort then, that at least he had Steve with him, wherever he was. Lily might not be the most religious – not since the day she found out just how much her father hurt her brother and mother – but she did believe that they were at least somewhere better now.

She _had_ to believe that.

Lily wasn’t sure how much time passed with her lying there, but her breakfast had gone cold by the time she managed a few bites. It was another burst of laughter from downstairs that finally convinced her to get out of bed.

 _Enough of the dead, Lily_ , she thought to herself, _you can still celebrate with living. Bucky would want you to._

With effort, she forced herself to clean up a bit, putting on fresh but comfortable clothes, tying her hair up. When she finally made it downstairs to her family, she found them all in the living room, passing drinks back and forth, sharing snacks.

“There she is!” Mike announced, the first to spot her. Her brother-in-law gave her a small grin, nothing but respect and understanding in his gaze.

The rest of them were similarly kind, not making any comment on her late arrival. They only shouted a loud ‘happy birthday’, before surrounding her, giving her hugs and kisses. (She did notice, however, how Annie seemed to hover nearby; she was always ready to come to her defense, that one. Annie had been her best friend all her life; age hadn’t changed that.)

The light atmosphere made her own mood brighten, made the earlier pit of despair in her all but fade away. Slowly, surely, she started to feel warm again, sitting here surrounded by all the people most important to her.

“Mama, you have to pick a movie,” Joey said to her when she took a seat. He had his father’s smile but her light eyes, which were twinkling at her. “It’s tradition.” 

Lily smiled a little and didn’t hesitate. “How about The Wizard of Oz?”

Curtis took her hand, squeezed it gently. He knew why she wanted that one. “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

Joey put the tape in, let it play. Lily watched in silence, let herself relax into the lull of the noise around her, of her family talking and laughing.

She found peace then, in that one moment. Peace and happiness. It wouldn’t last forever – the real world was demanding – but it was enough. It was always enough.

 

* * *

 

**~ _1994_ ~**

Annie was sixty-four years old when she held her first grandchild. He was a darling child, looked so much like her own Nicky that she felt as if she was twenty-five-years-old again. 

God, Nicky. She was so proud of him, her son, her only child. He’d done well for himself, despite the nomadic childhood she’d given him. Though they’d tended to gravitate towards Brooklyn when he was a child, Annie had also moved him across the country several times, wherever she could find work that called to her. She’d worked in charities mostly, sometimes as a freelance writer. Money had either been flowing or tight, but Annie had tried her best for her boy, her sweet boy. He’d never complained about how they lived, not once.

And, Lordy, was he a smart. Smarter than she could ever hope to be. Nicky was a doctor now, and a damned good one too. He was a heart surgeon and, in his spare time, he volunteered at free clinics. That made her happier than anything, that he was willing to continue his mother’s work and _give_.

And now he was a father. A _father_. And Annie was a grandmother. 

She looked down at her grandson now, so innocent and small. He was calm for the first time since he’d woken up, sleeping soundly in her arms. Annie grinned at him – already sucking up to her, trying to be her favorite grandchild. Well, he was in luck; Annie planned on spoiling him _rotten_.

“Are you sure you’re supporting his head, Anne?” Kim, Nicky’s wife of two years, asked, staring at her distrustfully.

Annie barely refrained from rolling her eyes; her daughter-in-law _had_ just given birth, she could give her a break. “Oh, I’m sure. I did raise that husband of yours, and he turned out just fine, didn’t he?”

Nicky, obviously sensing the tension between them, stepped in. “Why don’t you try and get some rest, honey? Mom and I can hold the fort for a while. We’ll take him back to the nurses so he can get his final check-ups.”

Kim sighed but nodded, obviously reluctant but too tired to argue. She let Annie and Nicky go with the newest member of the Barnes family. Annie cradled her grandson carefully as they walked down the hall to where the rest of the babies were resting in the maternity ward. She smiled at seeing so many little ones in their blue and pink hats, cocooned in their little blankets. 

Too soon, a nurse came by and took her grandson from her arms, reassuring Annie over and over that it would be quick – that she’d get more time with him right after. Annie pressed a small kiss to her grandbaby’s tiny forehead before passing him over. 

Nicky took Annie by the elbow then, leading her to a small waiting area where they could get a moment alone, mother-and-son. It had been a while since it was just the two of them, with Nick’s busy job and his heavily pregnant wife.

Not that Kim hadn’t been demanding _before_. Annie had tried her best to like her daughter-in-law; love her, even. But Kim… she made it hard. She was a judgmental woman, prone to being critical when there was no need for it. Annie suspected that part of the reason she fell so quickly for Nicky was his success and job; Kim hadn’t been prepared for Nicholas Barnes’ hippie mother.

Nicky didn’t seem to see that part of Kim, the nasty part. And well, Annie couldn’t do much about it. She didn’t want to risk their relationship by telling him just what she thought of his wife. And maybe Nicky saw Kim’s softer side, maybe their relationship _worked_.

Annie seriously doubted it, but she would have faith in her boy. And she would be ready, should their relationship fall apart. Besides, Nicky was grown ass man now, Annie had no right to be interfering in his adult life. 

And Nicky and Kim had given her a grandchild. She was grateful for that, she really was. Annie never expected to amount to much in life… but this little family of hers. She could be proud of that.

(But still, if that woman didn’t work on her _every nerve_.)

Annie’s thoughts were interrupted by Nicky coming to sit by her side, passing her a coffee (milk, no sugar – just the way she liked it). He took a long sip from his own, sinking deep into his seat.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Annie asked, reaching over to take his free hand. 

Nicky linked their fingers and smiled wide, looking for all the world like he was twelve again, like he’d just had his first kiss and couldn’t help but run home to tell his mom. 

“So tired, but also so amazing,” Nicky said now, still wearing that stupid grin. Annie loved seeing it on his face. “I can’t even begin to describe how this feels. He’s so _beautiful_ , Ma.” 

“I know.”

Her son faced her fully then, taking her other hand, his eyes a little watery. Sweet Nicky was always an emotional boy. Annie gave his bigger hands a gentle squeeze.

“His name is Daniel,” he said, meeting her eyes, “Daniel Anne Barnes.”

“Anne?” Annie asked, emotion choking her throat. Her eyes began to sting as she swallowed past it. _My sweet, sweet boy_. “I’m sure Kim doesn’t like that,” she joked, still trying not to cry.

“Yeah well, our deal was she picked the first name and I could pick the middle,” Nicky said, no nonsense. “And I couldn’t think of a better choice, Ma. You gave me _everything_.” 

Annie thumbed away a single tear that escaped the corner of her eye. She gave her son a watery grin. “What about Daniel? You don’t think he’ll mind?”

“Of course he won’t, Ma. He’s a Barnes. But more than that, he’s Annie Barnes’ grandson; he’ll be honored to carry the name,” he replied, vehement, as if to say that he’d make sure of it.

“Oh, Nicky,” Annie let out, before the tears _really_ fell.

“Aw, Ma! I didn’t mean to make you cry!” Nicky fussed, looking a bit panicked. He never did know what to do when his strong-willed mother cried.

“Oh, hush. Let an old lady express her feelings, will you? S’not everyday her son is more sentimental than her.”

“ _Ma_ ,” Nicky groaned, always dramatic. Annie saw a thousand treasured memories in her mind’s eye, all of her son growing into the man he was today.

He looked so different now, this grown-up child of hers. He was a good foot taller than her – sadly Annie had never inherited the tall genes the rest of her siblings had – and had a good set of strong soldiers. He wore dark-rimmed glasses over his blue, blue eyes; the same her brother had had, that stormy blue that was so captivating. His hair was much lighter than most of the Barnes family though, near blond, even in his fashionably trimmed beard. She remembered when his skin had been baby-smooth, his cheeks round and rosy.

He was thirty-four now. And a genuinely _good_ man, despite it all. Despite only having her and no father to speak of.

 _My baby_.

She clutched his hands tighter. “Nicky, thank you. Really. I couldn’t have asked for a better son. Maybe you think I gave you everything but listen close because I only want to say this once: you gave my life _meaning_ , you still do. Just knowing you’ve become the man you are now… It made it all worth it. I am so _damn_ proud.” 

“Thanks, Ma. I’m proud of you too. I really am. No one can do mothering quite like Annie Barnes can, you know? I’m just so happy I got you as a mom.” Nicky shifted closer then, put a strong arm around her shoulders, kissed her temple.

Annie patted his chest. “I love you, sweetheart.” 

“I love you too, Mama,” he replied, voice thick. _Sweet, sweet boy_.

Annie cleared her throat, wiped away the rest of her tears and stood. She put her hands on her hips, her twin braids swinging; classic Annie Barnes. “Now, enough of this sappy shit,” she declared. “Let’s go get that grandbaby of mine. It’s about time I show you how to properly change a diaper. You never did have any siblings so I gotta make sure you know what you’re doing.”

 _“Ma_ ,” Nicky groaned again, but it was with a smile on his face. He stood up and followed dutifully as his mother marched back to the nurses.

Annie held her grandson – little Daniel Anne – for as long as she was able that day, only putting him down when she was showing Nicky the secret to the diaper-change. She also told her son that he better get about to making another of these as soon as possible (to which he responded with another groan), but Annie would be damned if she didn’t get another grandbaby to spoil. Couldn’t make Daniel into a brat, had to spread some of her wisdom.

Besides, there should be more people out there carrying on the Barnes name. It was a good name, a proud name. And Annie wanted the world to continue knowing it.

 

* * *

 

**~ _2007_ ~**

The Winter Soldier turned ninety years old today. He knew this only because one of his handlers made a mockery of it. The handler ( _Pierce, Alexander_ , his mind supplied) spoke of it as if this event was something of importance, as if it should hold some sort of significance to the Soldier.

It didn’t. 

The knowledge was soon torn from him, regardless. Pain was his purpose, after all.

(There were no flashes this time. The mission had been over far too quickly for that.)

 

* * *

  

**~ 2011 ~**

 

Steve was simultaneously ninety-three and twenty-six and he was finally _awake_. The world he woke into was painfully bright; loud in every way. They told him he was asleep for sixty-eight years, but that he was finally home.

It was a lie. Oh, not all of it – sure, he had been asleep for decades, but he wasn’t _home_.

Home didn’t exist anymore. Not in this time. Not since he hit the water. Not since Bucky.

The dossiers they gave him told him the rest of the team was long dead, that Peggy was the only survivor who remembered him, but only sometimes. There was nothing about the girls. Nothing about Becca, who he was sure must have had a long life. Nor darling Lily, who had probably revolutionized this computer age he’d woken into. Or Annie. _God_ , Annie; she’d just been growing into her personality when he’d left. Who knows how she ended up.

SHIELD’s silence about the Barnes sisters was telling. Either they weren’t deemed important enough for Steve to know about or… or they were gone too. Both were unforgivable in their own ways.

Steve prayed it was the first, but the overwhelming darkness in his head whispered that it was probably the latter. The sadness and grief in him didn’t even let him have hope. 

Either way, Steve didn’t have the time to find out. (And Jesus, wasn’t that irony? _Not enough time_. Time seemed to have become his cruel master; a constant enemy.) 

Aliens had invaded New York. Fucking aliens. Bucky would have been awestruck at the mere idea; Steve was just tired.

The battle came next (it always did) and, despite the odds, his new, ragtag team won. The victory was short-lived though; at least, in Steve’s eyes. There was still so much cleanup to do, so much destruction to bear. He went out to help gladly, needing the distraction. The bone-deep exhaustion after days spent clearing out rubble was the only thing that allowed him to sleep. 

Of course, that was ruined too when SHIELD told him that his identity was going to leak; that they should go ahead and do their own press release. Steve reluctantly agreed, but asked for a few more days of anonymity.

And then Agent Romanoff – Natasha – came to find him, bearing a set of folders with black and white pictures of vaguely recognizable young women clipped to the fronts of them. _The girls_ , he realized, his heart ratcheting up a few beats.

How could he have forgotten about them these past weeks? How could he have fallen into complacency, as SHIELD seemed to have wanted him to?

( _Numbness_ , Bucky’s voice told him, echoing an old memory. _War makes us all numb, Stevie, and it’s fuckin’ terrifying_.) 

He somehow, someway, managed to pull himself together enough to look, to read. And he found that the girls are _alive_. All three of them.

Steve hadn’t believed in God since he woke up to a new world and not Bucky, but _thank God. Thank God._

He still had family. _The girls_.

He could have cried. Instead, he looked at Natasha.

“Why?” he asked. He hadn’t expected her to do this for him. Sure, she had been his team member (however briefly). And yeah, she was one of the few to treat him like a person and not a living legend or worse, an object. But this… this was something else.

Natasha’s answer was simple. “Because everyone should know about their past. Some of us don’t have that luxury.”

The look in her eyes told him this was something deeply personal to her, so he didn’t comment. Instead, he fixed her with a look of his own.

“You know I think it’s about time I take out that bike Tony got ready for me. Do you think I can get SHIELD to hold off on that press release for another day or so?” 

“Not if you ask nicely.”

“Wasn’t planning on asking.”

Natasha grinned, wolf-like. Steve felt his own lips turn up in response.

 _The girls_ , he thought, _his girls_.

He was going home. 

Well. It was about damn time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a little longer than I expected, sorry about that! I just had some trouble with a couple of the scenes (for some reason both of Becca's and Lily's second one were super hard), but I hope you all liked it regardless!
> 
> And thank you all for the great response on the last part! Really gave me the motivation to continue this little passion project of mine.
> 
> Lastly, I thought I'd add a few little tidbits/headcanons about the girls since this chapter basically spanned an entire lifetime (and these won't really be mentioned in the next part):  
> -The Howling Commandos are a presence in the Barnes family’s lives for the rest of their own. They try to visit each year (or in the case of Falsworth and Dernier, every few years) on the date of Bucky’s death; they consider it the day Steve Rogers died too.  
> -Curtis loved Captain America and the Howlies; but he especially loved Gabe Jones. Part of the reason he was so forward with Lily that first time is because he knew her brother brother was part of the first de-segregated unit in the army; he as pretty sure she wouldn’t mind a black talking to her.  
> -Side note: the first time he meets Gabe, he can barely talk to him, he’s so nervous.  
> -The Lawrence family are understandably concerned about Curtis’ relationship with Lily; but when they meet her, they love her immediately. Curtis’ mom finds particular joy in shoveling food at Lily because ‘she’s gotta remember to feed those brains of hers’.  
> -Michael and Curtis become the best of friends; as a result Becca and Lily’s families live close their entire lives.  
> -The entire Barnes clan (all in-laws included) march for civil rights; some of the Howlies join them.  
> -Winnie and Annie live together for almost two years when before Annie goes her own way again, baby Nicholas in tow. But when Winnie gets too old to live by herself, Annie returns the favor and opens her home to her. Winnie dies in her eighties, in her own bed in Annie’s home.  
> -Becca and Lily both hyphenate, going by Barnes-Proctor and Barnes-Lawrence respectively. They don’t do it to honor their dad, they do it honor Bucky and their mom (who were the only parents that mattered to them - because Bucky helped raise them, have no doubt).  
> -None of the girls named any of their children after Bucky or Steve because wouldn’t be able to bear it.  
> -Both Thomas and David Wallis end up dead-beats. Karma, y'all.
> 
> Hope you join me for the last bit! Next up: REUNIONS. Reunions EVERYWHERE. Also, so much stucky. So much.


End file.
